HTLJ: The Good of the Many
by Arianna18
Summary: Herc and Iolaus embark on a perilous journey to bring medicine to a plague-stricken village.


During this story, I refer from time to time to two other stories I've written: One of Mine and Children of the Sea. While you don't have to have read them, the events of those stories about the guys in their youth provide context to this tale. Oh, and in case it isn't immediately clear, this adventure takes place before they met Hera's enforcers.

A brisk wind filled the billowing white sails of the small merchant ship they'd boarded in Napthlion two days before. It was a fine, fresh spring day, exhilarating…one of those days when it was great to just be alive. Iolaus leaned against the ship's rail, watching the impossibly clear blue waves rise and fall in endless procession on the surface of the eternal sea, feeling the peace and wonder of it. Off to the northern horizon, he could just make out the narrow strip of green capped with peaks of white, the mountains of the southern Pelopponese. No question about it…sailing around those mountains was a whole lot more restful than climbing up and over them.

Hercules appeared beside him, leaning his own forearms on the wooden rail, sighing a little in contentment. It wasn't often that they had nothing to do but relax, no dire emergencies to contend with, no horrific storms to survive, no monsters of the deep or the air threatening mortal danger. Just the vast, peaceful sea and a seasoned crew that neither needed nor wanted their help to bring the ship to its next port.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" reflected Hercules quietly as he gazed at the mesmerizing, ever restless, waves.

"Yeah," sighed Iolaus. "And mysterious. Sometimes, I wonder where all this water comes from, and where it all goes. Like, if I was one of those waves, I wonder what it would feel like to roll along endlessly, with the strength and power of the deeps lifting me, until I came to a lonely shore and crashed upon the rocks, only to fall back into the arms of the sea where I belong. No cares, no worries, no responsibilities. Just…being."

Hercules nodded, understanding perfectly what Iolaus meant, appreciating the way his buddy could put what he felt into words. "You'd get bored," he observed, with a hint of a smile. "No women, wine or boar stew. No women, or fishing…well, maybe some fishing. No women…."

Iolaus snickered as he shook his head. "Well, you sure know how to wreck a mood! Not to mention remind me that there are no women on this boat…or wine or boar stew for that matter."

Hercules grinned as he turned his head to look over at his partner. "Sorry. But, only another day and we'll make port at Amitraea. There should be lots of women for you to flirt with at the festival for the Spring Equinox…not to mention wine and…"

"Boar stew," laughed Iolaus, straightening, his unruly curls caught by the wind, blowing like a golden halo around his sun bronzed face. "Yeah, I'm looking forward to it. Since I'm not the one who has been asked to judge any number of contests, I can just kick back and enjoy myself."

"Hmm," murmured Hercules, tossing his head to get his own windblown hair out of his eyes. "Lucky you."

Iolaus grinned sympathetically at his best friend. Though there were times when he wished people would notice that his demigod buddy usually had company when he took on warlords or monsters which had run amok, when it came to festivals, he was happy enough to be an anonymous, and apparently invisible, mere mortal. "Nevermind, Herc, the onerous responsibilities shouldn't take all your time. It'll be fun."

Hercules looked up at a cloud of gulls that were wheeling in the air currents over the ship, hoping for food, mewling and squawking as they danced on the wind, and nodded. "Yes, it will be fun…having nothing more demanding to do than choose the prettiest maiden to be the Festival Queen is always welcome. Seems like it's been a while since we could just relax and enjoy ourselves."

"That's certainly the truth," Iolaus responded ruefully. Gods, they'd been busy over the past few months. But, that just made this break that much more enjoyable. A few days at the festival, then another lazy cruise back to Corinth. Not a bad life.

Stretching with a yawn, Iolaus murmured, "I think I'll go below and have a nap. The rhythm of the sea and all this fresh air is wearing me out."

Chuckling, Herc nodded as he straightened. "Good idea. All this rest is just plain exhausting!"

Laughing, the two friends moved across the pitching deck to the hatch, surefooted and well balanced having long ago acclimatized to the exigencies of walking on water.

* * *

When the ship slipped into its place at the busy dock, the heroes were already standing near the gangway, ready to disembark. The town was decked out with small, brightly dyed flags snapping in the breeze, with streamers hanging from tall poles decked with representations of Demeter and other symbols of the spring and the hope of plenty. There was music, but they couldn't tell where it was coming from…somewhere over toward the centre of town, and the normal scents of the sea mingled with the aromas of baked goods and sweets that were being prepared for the coming days. People along the docks were light-hearted, laughing good-naturedly as they called out to one another, though some were sweating from their labour and a few moved as if their muscles were stiff. Everyone loved a festival, especially this one, which signaled the end of winter and the coming of warmth and bountiful harvests. This year, it was especially welcome as the winter had been hard, and recently it seemed, too many people had fallen ill with the irritating colds and influenza that were typical as the dregs of winter passed.

The heroes made their way up from the dock along winding narrow streets teeming now with the people who'd come to celebrate the Equinox, toward the town centre and the inn where they'd been told accommodation would be waiting for them. They knew the place from previous visits. A comfortable old inn, rambling and well furnished. But, what Iolaus liked best about it, he thought with a grin, was the tavern that was part of the establishment. No need to wander far for a good mug of ale or goblet of wine…better, no need to stumble along alleyways to find his bed after a raucous night of story-telling and jokes with the locals. But, then, when his restless gaze lighted on a pretty young woman, his eyes danced when he considered the other attractions of this seaside town which might well draw him into the night, if he was lucky. Noting his distraction, Hercules laughed with warm good humour, and looped an arm around his shoulders to draw him along the lane to the inn.

While Iolaus checked out their digs and dropped off their meagre baggage, made up entirely of his somewhat ragged and battered pack and sword, Hercules went in search of the magistrate, to report in and get the schedule of events. By the time the demigod got back, Iolaus was already well-ensconced in a corner table, catching up with old friends over an ale and bowl of roasted nuts.

The hunter looked up as Hercules came into the tavern, pausing for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior after the glare of the sun outside. "Over here, Herc," Iolaus called out to him, pulling out a chair for his friend and waving for a mug of ale. "All set for tomorrow?" he asked as Hercules sat down.

"Yep," the demigod replied, ticking off the fingers of one hand as he listed his duties. "Three races, an archery contest, which by the way you are barred from entering having won too many times in the past few years, the ceremonial tapping of the last keg of last year's wine, and the judging of the most beautiful maiden of spring contest. After that, I just have to offer the formal welcome to everyone at the dance in the square tomorrow night and I'm done."

"The usual, then," Iolaus observed, grinning.

"Uh huh," Hercules nodded as he sipped the ale, then turned to their old acquaintances, "It's good to see you again…how are your families?"

Oddly enough, they didn't answer immediately, and a cloud seemed to pass over their faces. When he'd asked the question, the demigod had expected to hear the usual responses of 'fine', and 'everyone's well'. But, now he frowned a little as he lowered his mug. Iolaus sighed as he explained, "Lortes and Damien were just catching me up, Herc. There's been some sickness here, and the old folks and kids have been hardest hit. Lortes' daughter, Cybelline, and Damian's mother, aren't doing very well."

"I'm sorry," Hercules murmured, concern flashing in his eyes. "I didn't know. Is there anything we can do?"

"No, I'm afraid not, Hercules," Lortes replied, sorrow shadowing his eyes as he looked away. "I'm afraid it's just something that has to run its course."

"Well, I hope they recover soon. I know how worrying it is when family are ill," the demigod said quietly. The men nodded, grateful for the sentiment, but in their hearts, they were afraid. Too afraid to acknowledge how many townsfolk and people from the surrounding countryside had already died.

* * *

By noon the next day, the heroes had fully realized that the gaiety they had noticed when the ship docked was surface deep only, a kind of defiant happiness and hope in the face of something dark and sinister that was stealing away too many loved ones. Exchanging pleasantries with the people they met, they'd learned that any number of people were too ill to leave their homes to enjoy the festivities, and others looked as if they would have been better to rest that day, eyes a little glazed with fever, pale, sweating in the cool spring air.

"Herc…something's not right here," Iolaus said quietly to his friend, having joined him after the archery contest had been concluded. "Too many of these people are sick."

"Yeah, I've been noticing that, too. It's as if they don't want to admit it," Hercules replied with a frown. "As if they're afraid and if they ignore it, it'll just go away. I tried to talk to the magistrate about all the people who look fevered, but he just mumbled something about it being the usual winter influenza, then changed the subject."

At that moment, the magistrate called across the crowd to Hercules, waving him over to judge the next event. As he nodded to the short, jovial man to indicate he'd heard, and turned to do his duty, Iolaus touched his arm, stopping him for a moment. "I'm going to track down the local healer and find out what's going on," the hunter said.

"Good idea," Hercules agreed, with a quick glance down at his friend. "Let me know what you find out."

Iolaus nodded soberly as he turned to head out of the square to the healer's cottage on the eastern edge of the town.

* * *

About half an hour later, Hercules spotted Iolaus making his away around the edge of the crowd, heading in his direction. The demigod frowned when he noticed the serious expression on his buddy's face. With a sinking feeling, he realized they'd been right to suspect something was seriously wrong here. But, his attention was drawn back to the event he was judging, and it was another fifteen minutes before he could free himself and move through the crowd to join his friend.

"What did you find out?" Hercules asked.

Not making eye contact with his friend, Iolaus studied the crowd for a moment, keeping his expression carefully neutral, then he cocked his head to move them away from the people pressing around them. Hercules followed him quietly until they turned a corner out of the crowded square.

"What is it?" the demigod asked again, feeling ever more concerned.

Iolaus turned to face him, his eyes dark with alarm. "It's bad, Hercules. The healer tried to tell them that this festival was a mistake, that gathering in crowds will only spread the disease faster, but no one would listen to him. The people here believe that Demeter will help them if they worship her properly with this celebration. They were afraid not to go through with it in case she turned her face away from them."

Hercules gazed at Iolaus, knowing his friend was holding the most vital information back, as if he, too, didn't really want to acknowledge the truth of the danger here. "What disease? What's making these people sick?"

Iolaus looked up at him and swallowed hard before he answered. "The plague, Herc," he said quietly. "The plague has come to Amitraea."

"Gods," whispered the demigod, feeling as if he'd just been punched hard. He didn't say anything more for a moment, then his eyes clouded with anger as he blurted out with angry frustration. "It's crazy, to be holding these celebrations, to be having people mix together where they'll only spread the infection. They're wasting their time if they think this will impress Demeter, or that she'll help them. She could care less about the life or death of mortals. We have to stop the festival and seal the port before this spreads any further."

"I guess we start with the magistrate," Iolaus said looking back toward the busy square, wondering how they could make certain that no ships sailed in horror and fear, trying to escape what had already captured them…short of burning them to the waterline to keep them from leaving. He started to move past Hercules, to head back to the centre of the festivities, but the demigod took hold of his arm, stopping him. Iolaus looked up at him, puzzled by the hesitant look in Hercules' eyes. "What?" he asked.

"Iolaus, maybe…maybe you should leave town," Hercules said quietly, his voice a little tight.

"Leave town? Now? When people need our help?" Iolaus queried, not understanding. "How can we leave when we're about to tell everyone else they have to stay?"

Hercules looked away for a moment, then back into his friend's eyes. "It's too dangerous for you to stay here…you could…"

"Get sick?" Iolaus cut in, almost impatient with his friend's concern, though some part of him understood and appreciated it. "Herc…even if I wanted to go, which I don't, you know I can't leave now. I've been here long enough to be exposed and could just carry it somewhere else. Besides, I'm as healthy as a horse…and before this is over, the healer is going to need all the help he can get."

The demigod studied his friend for a long moment, wanting to do nothing so much as order him away from here, get him out of danger. But, Iolaus was right, much as he hated to admit it. The time to leave was before they'd ever arrived. Now, there was no choice but to stay and help as best they could. Biting his lip, he nodded. "Alright, let's go," Herc said, turning with firm determination back to the square.

They'd just gotten back to the crowded centre of festivities when a young woman bumped into them, dizzy and feverish. When Iolaus reached out a hand to steady her, she crumpled and he caught her, pulling her up into his arms. A friend of the girl's turned and saw what had happened and rushed over, tears of fright brimming in her eyes. "Oh no," she whispered, "Not Alisandra…" and then she started to cry.

"Hey, easy," Iolaus responded, "She's just fainted." Looking up at Hercules, though, he shook his head. He could feel the fever radiating from the young woman's body. "I'll take her to the healer while you deal with the people here. I'll be back as soon as I can to help."

Hercules touched the unconscious girl's head gently as he nodded. Turning to her friend, he gave the young woman a quick hug to comfort her, and suggested, "Why don't you go with Iolaus so that you can help the healer take care of your friend."

The girl, not much more than a child, sniffed and rubbed her eyes. "Alright," she agreed miserably.

Iolaus headed back to the healer's cottage for the second time that morning, thinking that while he'd hoped a pretty woman would fall into his arms sometime during the festival, this was definitely

not what he'd had in mind. The poor kid would be lucky to survive. Hercules watched them go, then pushed through the crowd to the raised platform at the far end of the square, where the magistrate was talking with other town officials. Jumping up onto the wooden platform beside the other men, Hercules interrupted their conversation, "Iolaus and I have learned just how sick people really are in Amitraea. You can't ignore the facts any longer. There is plague here. You have no choice but to end this festival and quarantine the town."

The others stared at him in stunned silence for a moment, then the magistrate spluttered, "Nonsense, we can't stop the festival. We owe it to Demeter. If we turn away from her now, she may abandon us completely."

Hercules didn't fail to notice no one had protested his naming of the dread disease. They'd known all along…they just hadn't wanted to admit it, even to themselves. He opened his mouth to protest their blind faith in the goddess, but then paused. This wasn't the time to challenge their beliefs. If he did, in their fear they would reject his words, no doubt grow angry and ignore his advice. So, instead, he tempered his remarks. "Look, I understand your commitment to Demeter…and so does she. Believe me. But, the gods help those who help themselves and she won't thank you for wearing yourselves out, for taking these risks, when you could be fighting the disease instead of ignoring it."

Yeah, gods helped those who helped themselves all right…helped in the usual way, by staying far away and uninvolved to let mortals get on with what they had to do to survive.

Uncertain, the men stared at the demigod, but then one of the town elders nodded heavily. If anyone would know how Demeter would feel, it would be Hercules…he was a relative after all, and knew her much better than they ever would. His shoulders slumped in resignation as he turned to the others. "Hercules is right. We're exhausting people with useless games when they should be at home, resting or caring for others who are already ill. Jerash, you'd better make the announcement. Stephanos, you and I need to go to the docks to make sure the ships stayed tied in port."

Stephanos, a ruddy, heavy-set middleaged man, looked unhappy about that. "They'll leave as soon as they hear that there is plague here. How can we force them to stay?"

Hercules' face was grim as he advised, "Take a dozen other men with you, and bear torches. If the sailors refuse to come ashore, or try to unmoor their ships, board the vessels to take charge of them…if they try to fight or block you, tell them you'll burn the vessels if necessary. No one can leave here, not now, not until we bring this under control."

Jerash, the magistrate, laid a reassuring hand on Stephanos' shoulder. "Hercules is right, my friend. You and Simonides will have to ensure that none slip away. It would be criminal of us to allow this disease to spread to other innocent towns and villages."

Grimly, Stephanos and his brother Simonides nodded and turned to jump down from the platform. As they moved through the crowd, they quietly gathered a group of friends to travel with them to the docks. Gods, they'd be lucky if the sailors didn't riot.

Jerash watched them go, then turned to face the crowded square, raising his arms and his voice as he called for their attention. "My friends, please, listen to me!" It took a few moments, but finally silence moved through the square, like ripples on the water, stilling conversation, as everyone turned to face the magistrate, wondering, anxious, at the stern, sorrowful look on his face.

When he had their attention, the town leader called out, "I'm sorry, but we can't pretend any longer. We all know that there is more than the usual winter fever in Amitraea. Hercules has reminded me that the gods are not impressed with us when we behave foolishly, ignoring what must be done, in the hope they will do it for us. We must care for one another now, ease the pain of the sick, and save our own strength to fight this terrible disease that has come amongst us. We must fight the plague that has stolen into our town."

"But, Demeter will think we've turned from her, that we've failed in our worship to her," one frightened soul called out.

"No, no," consoled the magistrate. "She knows we must care for one another if we are to tend her fields and herds. We'll pray to her in the temple, and we'll finish this festival on another day, when we are again strong. Go now, to your homes. Care for your families and yourselves. Those of you who are visitors here must stay, I'm afraid. I'm putting this town under quarantine."

The silence was like a pall over the crowd, startling in its starkness after the music, laughter and loud celebrations that had filled the square only scant moments before. Shaking their heads, forced to face their fears, one by one, the townspeople turned to go back to their homes or to the temple to pray. Merchants who were just passing through, sailors from the wharf, stared at the magistrate and then at the people around them with a kind of horror. Plague? Quarantine? Gods, what had they gotten into when they'd wandered into this cursed town?

Iolaus loped back into the square, and slowed when he took in the stunned silence, felt the anger of those who felt trapped here against their will. Spotting some of the Egyptian crew from the ship they'd arrived on, he moved over to them. "Ramses, Amentop, I need your help, and that of the others if you can round them up for me. We'll need to prepare the temple to take in those who are ill. We need to gather wood, water, bandages, linens, find herbs for the healer and then spread word of where the people can come for help."

He saw the resistance in their eyes, their desire to quit this town as quickly as they could, to just get away, not help…but then he saw their resistance die, leaving dull resignation in its place. They were good men, experienced, and they knew they'd not want to take this disease home to their own families. Nodding silently, they turned to gather together the rest of the crew and set to work.

Iolaus sighed a little in relief, glad that a possible confrontation had been avoided and rather than fight, the sailors would help. Turning, he jogged over to join his friend, who'd watched the exchange and approved of Iolaus' fast intervention. "We'll let them pray in the temple first…that's where quite a few of them have headed," Hercules advised him, "while we meet with the healer and find out how he wants all this organized."

Grimly, only too well aware of the battle they faced, the two heroes headed out of the square, both devoutly wishing this was as simple as fighting a monster or horde of barbarians. But, this was an enemy they couldn't see, a deadly enemy that stalked its victims through the alleys silently, coming to attack from behind with no warning.

Hercules felt the cold hand of fear grip his heart. He wasn't afraid for himself…he knew his own natural resistance to disease made him virtually immune to the plague. But, watching Iolaus stride along in front of him, he was only too well aware his friend had no such protection. Iolaus was mortal, and vulnerable, as vulnerable as any one else in this gods-cursed town. It took an act of will for the demigod to push his fear aside, to focus on what needed to be done.

* * *

A thick cloud of black, oily smoke rose from the pyre on the edge of town, fouling the air, mute testament to the fact they were losing the battle. Another twelve people had died during the day, and at least fifteen more were not expected to last the night. Iolaus turned away from the raging pyre, the pain of defeat in his eyes. Too many innocents, too many children, had fallen victim, the young and the old the first to fail. He had to swallow against the anger that filled him at their helplessness to do anything to stop the ravaging disease.

Hercules understood the bleak expression in his friend's eyes, shared the frustration and grief. Silently, he picked up the shafts of the now empty cart he'd pulled from the temple, sickened by the thought that it would be filled again to overflowing by morning. Together, they made their way through the empty streets. In just a few days, Amitraea had taken on the aspect of a ghost town as those who still lived congregated in the temple. Frightened to be alone, desperate for whatever help the exhausted healer could provide, none remained in the privacy of their homes, lest they died alone with no one to care for them. So those who were sick, and those who cared for them, worried and grieved for them, all sought refuge in the large hall.

Though the most vulnerable had lost the battle first, they were not the only victims. As the days had worn on, healthier, stronger adults had finally begun to succumb as well. Most of the crew of one of the ships at the dock had died over the last two days, as had two from the ship they'd arrived on. Stephanos was gone now, and so was the magistrate, along with his wife. The hostler, blacksmith and the lads who'd worked at the stable had died days ago. The baker's wife, the armourer and his whole family, three of the stevedores from the docks, the innkeeper and his wife…gone. Lortes daughter, and Damien's mother, had been amongst the first to go…but Lortes and his wife had followed a few days later, as had Damien's brother and younger sister. There were few in the town who had not lost at least one of the people they loved most in the world.

Hercules' only solace was that, so far at least, Iolaus seemed fine. Tired, as they all were, the hunter was discouraged by the neverending losses but still unaffected by the mysterious disease. For all who had already died, and those who were not likely to make it, there were many more who were still well. Hercules kept telling himself that Iolaus would be one of the ones to escape the insidious attack, one who would not succumb to the disease…one of the ones who would be lucky. Amitraea had been a large, thriving town and there were at least two hundred people still living, with the hope of escaping the fate others had fallen to…and there were probably a hundred others who had come in from the countryside, seeking help and refuge.

But, the enemy was strong…maybe too strong to beat. This wouldn't be the first town to succumb, becoming only a memory in the mists of time. If the disease continued at its current rate, if it didn't give up of its own accord, hundreds more could die.

Weary, they stopped by the well to fill the clay vessels they had stacked there earlier. Iolaus hauled up bucket after bucket of water to pour into the large clay urns, while Hercules loaded those that had been filled into the cart. Finished, finally, Iolaus leaned back against the stone skirt of the well and sighed as he pushed the hair back from his face and then crossed his arms. "It's beating us, Herc," he said quietly, wishing there was something more they could do than ease the discomfort of the sick, bathing fevered bodies, changing linen, consoling the bereft…and burning the pitiful, wasted victims who had succumbed to the raging disease.

"I know," his friend responded as he straightened and stretched, loosening stiff, tense muscles. Hercules was about to begin dragging the cart back to the temple when his attention was caught by a stranger who had just wandered into the square from the opposite direction. Spotting them, the man waved and jogged over to them. "What's happening here? Where is everyone?" he asked, anxiety clear in his eyes.

Iolaus straightened from the well as he replied, "I'm sorry to have to tell you, but there is sickness here… plague. Most of the people are in the temple."

"By the gods," whispered the stranger, turning to face the direction of the large edifice dedicated to Demeter.

Hercules caught the movement, and though he had no idea who the man was, it was clear the stranger knew the town, knew where to find the temple. "My name is Hercules, and this is my friend, Iolaus," he said.

The young man turned back to them. "Virgil's my name," he said, distracted. "I'm from this town…grew up here…just got home and found no one there. I've been traveling in the north to visit my brother and his wife in Tripolis. I had no idea…." His voice drifted off, shocked, trying to make sense of the disaster he'd found here. "My family…?"

"As Iolaus said, most of the people are at the temple. Come with us and we'll see if your family is there," Hercules said quietly, hoping they were, but afraid this man was going to find out some if not all his family were desperately ill, if not already gone.

They set off at a rapid pace, the man anxious to make sure his wife and son were all right. When they got there, it was only moments before he spotted his wife kneeling along one wall of the temple, caring for their son, who had fallen ill the night before. "Crista!" he called out, his voice thick with alarm as he moved quickly across the hall to join her.

"Virgil," she replied, looking up in surprise, not having expected him home for another week. She held up a hand, and he gripped it as he knelt beside the restless, fevered body of his only child. Iolaus looked at Hercules and shook his head, knowing the fear that now curled around this man's heart, knowing the sick impotence he'd be feeling at not being able to do anything to save his child.

Hercules laid a hand on Iolaus' shoulder, then sighed as he turned away. There was too much to do, too many who needed caring for…they didn't have the luxury of time to waste with useless regret or painful memories. Virgil, however, had looked quickly around the hall to locate the healer, and seeing him not far away, had stood and was almost running to the man's side.

"Festius," the young man called out, pulling the healer to his feet, away from the patient he was tending. Concerned, Iolaus moved to intervene if it turned out that, in his shock, Virgil was going to take his fear and frustration out on the healer.

"Ah, Virgil," the tired healer said, looking up, his irritation at having been distracted from his patient fading away. "I'm sorry you've had to come home to this, lad."

"Gods, Festius, this is terrible," the younger man blurted, terrified by his son's illness. "You have to send someone to Tripolis, immediately."

Frowning, confused, the healer shook his head. "What are you talking about? You know that no one can leave the town…we could take the plague to others. I know you'd like to have your brother informed, but that's impossible…."

"No…you don't understand," Virgil interrupted. "When I was in Tripolis, my brother told me they'd had the plague there last fall. But, their healer has some special medicine…I don't know, something he got from Aesclepius, I heard. A miracle cure of some kind."

"What?" demanded the healer, hope flaring in his eyes as one hand clutched at the younger man's arm. "Are you certain of this…that it's not just a rumour or some exaggerated story?"

"No…I'm certain. Please…someone has to go, right away. It may be my boy's only hope…" Virgil begged. He'd go himself, but there was no way he'd leave his son's side, not now, not when the boy was so ill.

Having overheard the exchange, Iolaus looked around the hall. Spotting Hercules not far away, he called out softly to get his attention and waved him over.

"What is it?" Herc asked, not sure how to read the expression on Iolaus' face…his buddy looked excited about something. Hopeful.

"Virgil has just told the healer that there is a cure for the plague in Tripolis. Something the healer there learned from your cousin, Aesclepius. Gods, Herc, this might be the miracle we've been hoping for, but didn't expect to get," Iolaus explained, drawing the demigod with him over toward Festius and Virgil.

Virgil knew little more than he'd already shared, but it was enough to give the healer hope. Everyone knew of the miraculous cures Aesclepius was known to use and to teach others that went to him to learn. Though it was dangerous to break the quarantine, they could not ignore this possibility of reprieve from the disease's bitter hold on the townspeople.

Thinking quickly, conscious of his responsibility to others beyond the boundaries of his domain, the healer turned to the demigod and his friend. There was a way to get to Tripolis without having to go through other settlements, but it was rugged and full of hazards, especially given that winter still clung to the high mountain reaches. But, these two men were strong, used to harsh conditions, used to roaming the wilderness. And, they were both still healthy, able to travel quickly…the risks in sending them were low.

With solemn haste, the healer made his request. "The way over the mountains is hard, but there are no villages, no towns between here and there. It would be possible to make the journey without causing danger to others. Hercules, would you and Iolaus go and bring back the medicine we need?"

"Of course," Hercules replied without hesitation. "But, it's a long way…it'll take us at least a week, if not longer, to get there and back."

"Then, you'd better go immediately," the healer replied, patting the demigod on the shoulder, grateful finally to have the means within reach to combat the vicious disease.

"I'll get our gear from the inn, Herc. See if you can find a length of rope, about fifteen or twenty feet. We'll need it to cross the high country…some of those cliffs are pretty steep," Iolaus said in a rush as he turned to jog out of the temple. "I'll meet you back in the square," he called over his shoulder.

"You'll find what you need in the stables, Hercules," Festius advised him as he fumbled for the small purse at his belt. Handing it to the hero, he said, "There will be enough here, I pray, to pay for whatever you need. Go quickly, my friend. I'll keep as many of them here alive as long as I can…having the hope of a cure to hold onto will give them strength."

Taking the small sack of coins and securing it in his belt, Hercules gave one short nod, then he, too, turned to jog out of the temple. There was no time to lose.

When Iolaus met him back in the square a few minutes later, he came bearing a couple of cloaks and a lumpy sack as well as his pack and sword. "I found these in the inn. They made be a bit flea-ridden, but they'll be better than nothing…it'll be cold up there. And I grabbed some cheese, dried meat, some fruit and bread from the larder, as well as a couple of waterskins, so we won't have to stop to hunt for food or water."

"Good thinking," Hercules replied, taking the cloak Iolaus held out to him along with one of the waterskins and the pack of food Iolaus had hastily thrown together, and then they were racing out of the town, toward the mountains in the north.

* * *

They made good time the first day and kept on traveling without a break to sleep. But the second found them high in the mountain range, and they had to slow down, taking care over the narrow path along the ridges, made treacherous by the snow and ice that still clung to the rocky, uneven ground. And, several times they'd come to places where there'd been no choice but to climb, the wind catching at their cloaks and freezing their fingers and faces. The air was thin at those altitudes, and they both found themselves panting a little, sweating from the exertion despite the cold. They'd been this way once before, later in the season, so they knew there were caves where they could find rest when it got too dark to travel safely. Watching the sun, gauging the time left before it set, they picked up the pace to be sure they'd find shelter before nightfall.

As they'd traveled, they had discussed the best way to get the medicine back to Amitraea. They couldn't bring it back across the mountains. The journey was difficult enough without carrying supplies. They had no way of knowing just what form the medicine would take…packages of herbs to be brewed, or vials of liquid. But, to bring back enough for up to three hundred people meant it was likely to be quite a load. They'd have to rent or buy a cart in Tripolis, and then go to Naphthlion, the closest port, not quite two days from the small village in the middle of the Pelopponese mountains. In the long run that would be far faster than following the circuitous wagon trails through and around the mountains almost to the Ionian Sea before they could turn back south. From Napthlion, a ship could get them back to Amitraea in three days at most. Though the ship, itself, couldn't put into port, they could lower a skiff and row to shore.

They'd been two days on the journey already and it was at least another two days to Tripolis. Gods, how many more people would die before they could make it back to the beleaguered town?

They were pushing hard, and the way was rugged, with more than one steep cliff to be scaled. So, Iolaus didn't think about the way his muscles had started to ache, and the shortness of breath he attributed to the thin air. It was the cold that was making him shiver, and the exertion that was causing sweat to bead on his forehead. 'The only good thing about this blasted cold is it seems to have killed the damned fleas!' he thought, scratching his arm absently. But, gods, he was getting tired. Finally, just as the shadows of evening were beginning to obscure their trail, they spotted the entrance to the first cave about a mile further ahead, a little above their current position. One more free climb, and they'd reach the next shelf of rock that would angle them up to the shelter they sought.

A sense of profound urgency had been driving them on. The people back there were counting on them returning as fast as they could. Now, late on the second day, they both knew they were going to have stop for a few hours, until the dawn brought enough light to continue the journey. While they regretted the enforced delay, they both knew the exertions of the trip over the mountain passes would exhaust them if they didn't guard their energy and strength. Besides, it was just too dangerous to go on in the dark…they wouldn't do anyone any good if they slid off this damned mountain.

Reaching the base of the last cliff they'd need to scale that day, Iolaus took the lead, feeling for hand and footholds, roped to Hercules who followed close behind him. The blond hunter was shaking from the cold, his hands numb. Gods, he hated the mountains in winter…and though it was spring in the lowlands, that season had not yet arrived in the high reaches they were traversing. Panting, ignoring the sweat running down his forehead, stinging his eyes, he climbed as quickly as he could. But, it was steep, and difficult. His muscles protested, the aching having gotten worse in the last hour. By the time he finally hauled himself up and over onto the narrow, ice covered ledge, he was exhausted. Hercules climbed up beside him and reached down a hand to help him to his feet.

"Almost there," the demigod encouraged with a slight smile.

"Thank the gods for small mercies," Iolaus panted as he clasped arms with the demigod, allowing Hercules to pull him up. "I'm beat."

The two of them bent into the howling wind, Hercules in the lead to shield Iolaus from the worst of the icy blast. As they struggled along the narrow ledge, each kept a hand on the rough rock beside them for balance as they stumbled the last few feet and staggered gratefully into the shelter of the cave, leaving the wretched wind behind.

"Whew!" Iolaus sighed as he leaned against a wall and slowly let himself slide down it to sit sprawled, exhausted, just inside the mouth of the cave. "Why can't it ever be easy?" he complained, only half kidding as he fumbled with frozen fingers to untie the rope around his waist.

"Where would be the challenge if it was easy?" Hercules quipped as he untied his end of the rope that had bound them together before he moved further into the cave. If he remembered correctly, there was a small stream that fed into a pool further back. Hopefully, it wasn't frozen over because their waterskins were almost empty. He grinned when he spotted the crystal glimmer of water trickling down the wall into the small natural basin, and the wood they'd left here during their sojourn here the summer before was still stacked next to the pool. Either that, or other travelers, equally conscientious, had replaced the wood before moving on. There wasn't much available this time of year that wasn't frozen or sodden with snow, but not much farther along there was a forested plateau with an endless supply of fuel, easily accessible during the summer. Hercules was glad he wasn't going to have to go back out into that wind to haul in more branches. There was more than enough here for a night, even two.

Kneeling, he got a fire started, then shrugged off the pack of food he was carrying to rummage through it for some of the bread and cheese. Climbing mountains worked up an appetite. Glancing back over his shoulder, he grinned when he saw Iolaus still sprawled against the wall. "Did you plan on spending the night there, or would you like to come back here where it's warmer?" he called to his friend, a teasing note in his voice.

"Warmer is good," Iolaus sighed as he forced himself back up to his feet. Moving forward to join his partner, Iolaus grinned wearily when he saw the blazing fire. "Almost cozy," he observed, sinking to the ground next to the little pool of water.

"Hungry?" asked Hercules, holding out a hunk of cheese.

But, Iolaus just shook his head. "No, oddly enough. I'm too tired to eat," he replied, wrapping his arms around himself, huddling in his cloak, trying to stop shivering.

"That's got to be a first," chuckled Hercules, leaning back against the wall behind him, pulling the hood of the cloak off his head as he took a bite of the cheese.

Ignoring the teasing, Iolaus wiped the sweat from his forehead and pushed his own hood off. Gods, sweating and shivering at the same time. Nothing like the mountains in winter to make a man completely miserable. He held his hands out toward the fire, trying to get warm. Taking another bite of cheese, Hercules grinned indulgently at him across the flames, knowing how much Iolaus hated the cold.

But, then, he stopped chewing and sat up a little straighter.

Iolaus' hands were trembling.

Hercules frowned as he looked more closely at his partner, and noticed the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the shivers wracking his body. Tossing the rest of the cheese back into the pack beside him, Hercules stood and moved around the fire to go down on one knee beside his friend.

Iolaus looked up from the fire when Hercules laid a hand on his shoulder and the demigod saw that his eyes were dull, his face flushed. "Are you alright?" Herc asked then, concern flaring in his eyes.

"I'm just tired, and cold, and I ache all over from that miserable climb up here, but other than that, I'm fine," Iolaus replied, shrugging, sniffing a little, his voice a touch raspy.

Unsatisfied, the demigod reached out a hand to Iolaus' forehead, his face losing all expression when he felt the heat of his friend's skin. "You've got a fever," Hercules said, his voice tight.

Frowning, Iolaus pulled his head away from Herc's touch. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a headache start, and then his hand drifted to rub the base of his throat, thinking it felt a little sore. He hadn't noticed, too preoccupied with just trying to get somewhere that he could lie down and rest. But, now, he realized he was more tired than he should be, his muscles protesting too much. His eyes felt scratchy and heavy…gods, he just wanted to sleep.

Hercules watched him, anxiety beginning to give way to fear. "Iolaus?" he murmured, drawing his friend's eyes back to his own.

Iolaus gazed at him for a minute, not wanting to admit to it, wanting to deny it, to believe he was just tired and cold, but Hercules could see the realization dawn in his eyes. Iolaus swallowed, opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out…he didn't know what to say. Herc's grip on his shoulder tightened until it almost hurt, and Iolaus could see the stricken look of horror bloom in his buddy's eyes.

Unable to bear that look in his best friend's eyes, Iolaus shook his head as he turned his face back to the flames, pressing his eyes shut. "Maybe it's not…maybe it's just an ordinary cold," he murmured, wishing he could believe it.

"Maybe," Hercules responded, his mouth suddenly dry as parchment. Noticing Iolaus shudder violently as another wave of chills captured his body, the demigod yanked off his cloak and bundled it around Iolaus, pulling his best friend into his arms, encircled in their warmth, his chin resting on the top of Iolaus' matted curls. The demigod's heart was thumping painfully in his chest, and he felt as if he could scarcely breathe, almost as if he'd just been blown away by one of Ares' bolts of energy. Hercules closed his eyes as he asked, "Do you have any herbs in your pack?"

Iolaus shook his head, not resisting Hercules' embrace, grateful for it just then. "No, Festius needed all the supplies he could get…I gave him what we had the first day," he muttered quietly. It didn't matter anyway, the hunter thought to himself. The herbs would only have helped fight the symptoms, eased some of the discomfort…they wouldn't have done any real good. Exhausted, Iolaus didn't even notice his eyes drooping closed as he drifted into sleep.

Hercules felt his friend relax in his arms, felt the chills finally subside, but he kept holding on to Iolaus, cradling him against his chest as if he would never let him go.

* * *

It was an hour later when Iolaus stirred and roused from the unhealthy sleep he'd fallen into so suddenly. His throat felt raw and it was harder to swallow, his muscles and joints ached worse than before, and the headache was now pounding mercilessly. He moaned a little, not fully awake, wondering for a moment where he was and what was wrong with him…why Hercules was holding him. But, then awareness crashed back and he stiffened.

Hercules watched the eyelids blink and flutter open, saw the stark awareness of his illness settle into weary resignation in Iolaus' expression and wanted to scream at the Fates with helpless, hopeless rage. This couldn't be happening!

But, it was.

And there was nothing Hercules could do for him except keep his friend as warm and comfortable as possible until the dawn came and he could get Iolaus out of here, get him to the healer in Tripolis.

Noticing that full dark had fallen outside, Iolaus asked quietly, his voice rough, "How long was I out?"

"About an hour," Hercules responded, his arms tightening a little around his partner. "How're you doing?"

"A bit better, I think," Iolaus lied as he pulled himself away from his friend. Swallowing against his fiery throat, he looked a little blearily around the dimly lit cave. "Where'd we leave the waterskins?" he asked.

"I'll get one," Hercules replied, rolling to his feet and stepping around the fire to reach down for the nearly empty skin he'd left by the pack of food. "Let me fill this up with fresh water," he muttered as he knelt by the pool, then handed the 'skin to Iolaus.

Taking it with a trembling hand, Iolaus drank gratefully, wincing a little as the icy water flowed past the rawness of his throat. Sighing, he shifted a little so that he could brace his back against the wall, then he looked across the flames at Hercules, the deep lines of worry in his buddy's face clearly visible in the flickering light. "I'll be all right, don't worry," he assured the demigod, wondering if that was true as he loosened the woolen cloaks bundled around him. Gods, he was hot, but he knew it was the fever, so he didn't pull them off. If he got a chill, he'd only make things worse.

Hercules gazed at him, hoping that wasn't the second lie Iolaus had told him since he'd awakened, because the demigod hadn't been fooled by his partner's assurances of being better. It was only too clear that Iolaus was getting worse. "You'll be fine as soon as I get you to Tripolis," Hercules responded, knowing the cure for the disease was there, only a day or so away. At least, it had better be there.

Iolaus nodded as he turned his gaze to the flames. But, then, he thought about the trail ahead. If anything, the cliffs between the cave and Tripolis were even worse than what they'd already covered. Sighing, he took another pull from the waterskin, then set it down beside his leg, thinking the problem through. Thinking about why they were here and what needed to be done. Feeling fear wrap itself around his heart when he accepted what it all meant…what lay ahead for him. But, he was unable to see a way around it, unable to fool himself into hoping there was another alternative, another possibility. There wasn't. Looking across the flames at his best friend, he knew now that his job was to help Hercules accept the facts, knowing as well that his friend wouldn't want to hear them.

Reaching into himself for that aura of stoic acceptance he affected whenever he didn't want Hercules to know he was scared, a resigned, almost calm, expression came into his eyes. Clearing his throat, he said quietly, but firmly, "Face it, Herc…I can't go any further, not in this weather, not on that trail."

Hercules looked up, surprised…dismayed when what Iolaus was saying sank in. "I'll carry you, then," his friend asserted almost belligerently, knowing how much Iolaus hated it when Hercules picked him up as if he was little more than a helpless child.

Iolaus smiled a little as he shook his head, wishing it could be that easy. "Hercules…think about it. The ledge is about a foot wide, if that, in places, and icy. There're at least two more sheer cliffs to cross…"

"Forget it, Iolaus, I'm not leaving you behind," the demigod growled as he came to his feet, not wanting to hear this, not wanting to talk about it.

"You have no choice," Iolaus replied, his voice flat, tired. He really didn't have the energy to fight about this.

"There's always a choice," Hercules almost shouted, not wanting to accept Iolaus' analysis, angry when a traitorous part of his mind argued that his friend was only too right.

"Okay," Iolaus replied dryly with a sad smile, "then, this time, the choice is for me to stay here while you go for the medicine."

"I won't leave you here alone," Hercules flung back at him, beginning to pace, unable to contain his sense of fear and frustration. How could Iolaus even imagine he'd leave him here? Gods, it wasn't possible he told himself, refusing to acknowledge the facts.

"Damn it, Hercules! You can't ignore all those people back there…you can't pretend they don't matter, that it's okay if they die because you're too busy worrying about me," Iolaus flashed back, his fear and exhaustion feeding his fury. "I'm sick, dammit, too sick to make it on that trail, and you know as well as I do that there is no way you can carry me and get across the cliffs between here and Tripolis. We agreed to help them…it's our responsibility. If I can't go on, I have to stay here…and you have to get the medicine to them."

"Forget it, Iolaus…I'm not going to risk leaving you here in this freezing cave," the demigod shouted back. "Do you know what you're suggesting? What it could mean?"

Iolaus nodded his head wearily and looked away…he understood only too well what all this meant for himself, but it was out of his control. The thought of being left alone here, to face what the plague would do to him without Hercules frankly terrified him, but he wasn't going to let Herc know that. It was going to be hard enough for his friend to walk out of here without knowing how hard it would be for him to watch the demigod go.

When he remained silent, Hercules stopped pacing and moved to kneel down beside him, regretting his anger, knowing it was caused by the terror of what this sickness could mean. "I won't leave you," he repeated again, quietly, his voice cracking with his desperate fear for his friend.

"You have to," Iolaus murmured, implacable, holding onto reason, keeping his emotion locked down deep. "I know you don't want to, but…Herc, there are hundreds of people back there counting on us to come back with the medicine they need. I can't go any further, but," turning his head to look into Hercules' eyes, his own filled with compassion at the dilemma Hercules was facing, he continued, "the good of the many, Herc…we can't let them down."

Hercules stared at him, his head shaking in unconscious denial, his lips trembling as he fought against the inevitability of what was happening. He remembered the trail as well as Iolaus did, and he knew his buddy was right. But, Iolaus could die if he left him here alone…and hundreds of others could, likely would, die if he stayed. And, now, Iolaus needed the medicine every bit as much as the people in the village did. Hercules felt trapped. Any way he looked at it, he came to the same answer. He had to leave Iolaus here in this damned freezing cave to face a deadly sickness alone. Reaching out, he grabbed Iolaus and pulled him into a tight hug, feeling the heat radiating from his friend. "Gods, Iolaus, I can't…" his voice broke.

Iolaus slipped his arms around Hercules as he rested his head against the larger man's chest. "I'll be all right," he assured his friend, trying his best to make this easy…trying to ignore his own fear of the disease that he knew in his gut had grabbed hold of him. "There's plenty of water here, and wood for the fire. You can leave some of the food…"

"You shouldn't be alone," Hercules whispered. They both knew what the disease did to people…the gods knew, they'd seen enough of it. If this wasn't just an ordinary infection, if it was the plague, Iolaus wouldn't be able to care for himself. He'd be lost in fever, and pain, only semiconscious, weak and confused. Left alone, it was only too likely he'd die. "I swear to you, I can carry you…I can get you out of here," he murmured fiercely.

"It's too dangerous, Hercules. One slip and we'd both fall. I'd be killed and maybe even you would be, too. That's a no-win proposition for everybody. Besides, even if it was possible, trying to take care of me would only slow you down and there's no time to lose. As soon as it's light, you have to go," Iolaus replied wearily. Gods, he was so tired.

Hercules shook his head in mute denial. He wouldn't, couldn't think about it, not yet. Maybe Iolaus would be better by morning, well enough to go on. Feeling the chills attack Iolaus again, he tightened his grip around his best friend. Iolaus listened to his friend's heartbeat, comforted by it. Closing his eyes, he murmured, "You should rest, Herc…you've got a hard journey tomorrow."

Hercules blinked against the sudden tears in his eyes, and had to swallow back the lump that filled his throat. "Don't worry about me," he replied huskily, a trace of bitterness in his voice. "I'll be fine."

Iolaus heard the bitterness and understood it. Hercules was feeling guilty about the fact that his divine heritage protected him from the ravages of this damned disease. But, Iolaus smiled a little, grateful to the depths of his soul to know that Herc, at least, was immune, that he really would be okay. Whatever else happened, he didn't need to worry about Hercules. Nor did he need to worry any more about those people back in Amitraea…the bitterness in Herc's voice also told him that his friend had accepted what he had to do. Herc would make sure those people would be alright. Relaxing in his friend's grip, Iolaus stopped fighting against the weariness that assailed him and let himself drift back to sleep.

Iolaus slept fitfully, made restless by the fever and his aching body. As Hercules held him, the demigod thought ahead to the journey, knowing he really didn't have a choice but to carry on, estimating the days until he could make it back here. If he kept going once he left, and didn't stop to sleep, he could make it to Tripolis in one more day, rather than the two they'd planned. He'd get the medicine right away, get a wagon and be on the road again immediately. If he pushed hard, he could make it to Napthlion before dawn the next day, and go straight to the docks to find a ship. He pushed away the thought that any sane captain would probably try to refuse the mission, not wanting to get anywhere close to a place that harboured the plague. If it was a fast ship and the winds held, and they sailed with full sails by night as well as day, the ship could reach Amitraea in two days. He'd leave the medicine, just bring enough for Iolaus, and race back here through the mountains. But, even travelling as fast as he could go, that part of the journey would still take the better part of two days.

Six days.

It would be at least six days before he could make it back. Could Iolaus hold on that long? With no one to fight the fever, no one to force fluids into him? Gazing into the night beyond the mouth of the cave, Hercules frowned as he shook his head despairingly. Gods, it was impossible. Six days was too long. He couldn't just leave Iolaus to maybe die alone in this frozen wasteland.

He couldn't.

But, he was going to have to. Hundreds of people were waiting for him to return to Amitraea. Hundreds who could die without the medicine he'd be bringing.

Damn it. Damn it all to the molten depths of Tarturus.

Silently raging against the Fates, Hercules cursed himself for having been at the root of it all. It was because he was the famous Son of Zeus that had led to the invitation to play a role in the festival. If not for that, they'd not have been anywhere near Amitraea. He should have refused to go. It was arrogance and pride that had taken him there, a too casual acceptance that it was just one more role he had to play. He should have made Iolaus leave the town when they'd first realized the plague was there. Or have come into these mountains alone…at least then, Iolaus would be still in the temple, where the healer could be caring for him. But, part of him had been glad to have a reason to get Iolaus away from the town, away from the disease. It hadn't occurred to either of them that Iolaus shouldn't accompany him on this journey. They'd never considered, they hadn't thought….

The rage burned away, leaving an aching, helpless despondency behind. There'd been no way to know, no way to predict any of it. Sometimes, Hercules thought, if he believed in luck he'd think that all they ever got was bad, and he wondered what he'd ever done to offend Fortune, to have led to this.

'Why can't it ever be easy?' Iolaus had asked when they'd first entered the cave.

'Where would be the challenge if it was easy?' he'd joked back, uncaring, unaware of just how hard it was going to be. Some challenges they really didn't need. He looked down at the troubled face of his friend, the pain clear now that his partner was unconscious and unable to control it or hide it from him. Tenderly, the tips of his fingers brushed at Iolaus' fevered cheek, as he wondered how his buddy would be able to manage alone, how he'd be able to find a way to survive with no one to care for him.

Those thoughts caused Hercules to gaze around the cave, wondering how he could make it all as easy as possible for Iolaus to survive while he was gone. Easing his partner down to the floor of the cave, he stood and reached for Iolaus' pack, pulling out the two blankets his buddy always carried. Shaking them out between the fire and the pool of water, Hercules laid them on the ground, a double barrier against the chill of the bare stone ground. He filled both waterskins with the icy water and laid them by the edge of the blankets. Pulling some of the rags Iolaus carried out of his pack, he laid them beside the waterskins. He put the sack of food on the other side of the blankets, closer to the fire. The cheese, bread and dried meat would be softened by the heat, made easier to swallow. Gazing then at the fire, Hercules realized Iolaus would need more wood, and lots of it. Returning to his partner's side, he gently picked Iolaus up and transferred him onto the blankets, making sure he was well bundled in the heavy woolen cloaks. Emptying his buddy's pack of everything but the rest of the rags, he bunched it up to make a pillow for the hunter's head.

Oblivious to the biting cold, Hercules headed out into the darkness, feeling his way along the narrow shelf, grateful for the light cast by the three-quarter moon, as he followed the path up to the forested plateau. It took three trips, but he'd stacked up more than enough wood close to the fire to dry, ready to hand when it was needed. Then, he finally laid down beside Iolaus, once again pulling his buddy back into his arms, lending him warmth, holding him for as long as he could before the dawn came.

Iolaus was strong, and the most determined man the demigod knew. He'd hold on. He wouldn't give in to the disease…he'd fight until Hercules could get back. Or so Hercules told himself, needing to believe it…or he could never bring himself to leave. Exhausted more by emotion than physical effort, the demigod finally drifted off to sleep.

Neither of them heard the chilling, haunting howl that rose from the forested plateau above the eerie moan of the gusting wind outside the shelter of the cave.

* * *

It was the coughing that woke them. Heavy, harsh, hacking barks that ripped through Iolaus' chest, leaving him gasping. "Gods," the hunter moaned, feeling truly wretched as awareness returned. Hercules had pulled his shoulders up a little, to help him get his breath. Blearily, Iolaus looked up at his friend, somewhere finding a wan smile for him. Hercules brushed the sweat sodden curls back from his friend's face, wishing he could find a smile in return. Iolaus looked ghastly, almost gray in the dim uncertain light that was creeping in through the mouth of the cave.

"Morning," the hunter rasped as he pulled himself into a sitting position and looked dazedly around the cave. He saw the massive pile of wood, felt the blankets beneath his hands, saw the sack of food close at hand. Giving Hercules a grateful look, he observed, "Well, I can see you found a way to keep busy last night…you were supposed to rest."

"I rested enough," Hercules replied, studying his partner's face as if he was trying to commit every detail to memory. Any hope that the demigod had harboured that Iolaus would be well enough to travel any farther died at the sight of how much worse he'd gotten overnight.

Standing, trying to stay matter of fact, to not lose control, Hercules pointed out the other preparations he'd made. "The waterskins are here, where you can reach them easily, and I pulled out some rags so that you can wet them, cool down your fever when you need to," he said, his voice a little gruff with emotion.

"Thanks, Herc…but, you should take one of the waterskins with you, and some of the food," Iolaus replied, trying to act nonchalant. Fumbling with the cloaks, he started to pull one off. "And, you'll need this back," he said.

But, Hercules knelt again beside him, laying a hand over his. "No, Iolaus, you keep it. The cold doesn't bother me much, you know that."

Iolaus looked up, wanting to protest, but he could see from the determined look in his friend's eyes that it wouldn't be any use. Feeling wasted, the chill of the air already penetrating his wraps, he knew Herc was right. As he got worse, he'd need the warmth of both cloaks if he was going to survive the fever. "All right," he acquiesced quietly. "Thanks."

For a moment, Hercules just gazed into his eyes, then reached up to brush the back of his fingers along Iolaus' fevered cheek. There was so much he wanted to say, but his tongue couldn't find any of the words. Iolaus reached up and clasped his hand, holding it tight for a moment. "You should go," he said softly. "It's time."

Hercules looked out at the lightening day and nodded reluctantly. Standing, he looked around, his heart twisting at the pitiful lack of supplies or comforts. "Is there anything else I can do, or get for you before I go?" he asked, his voice strained as he held rigidly onto the control he was forcing upon himself to keep from coming apart.

Iolaus pushed himself to his feet as he shook his head. "No, I've got all I need," he replied, holding a hand against the wall to steady himself against the dizziness that had suddenly threatened to swamp him.

Hercules turned, frowning when he saw his partner on his feet. "What are you doing? You shouldn't be standing…."

Iolaus flashed his partner a grin as he pushed away from the wall. The last sight Hercules had of him before he left was not going to be of a pathetic, suffering invalid, curled in a shivering ball on the floor of this damned cave.

"Don't worry so much," the hunter consoled his friend. "It's not too bad, not yet anyway. With any luck, it'll just be an ordinary influenza and won't get a whole lot worse. Really, Herc…I'll be fine until you get back. Gods, if I end up feeling better in a day or two, I might even meet you back in Amitraea."

Not in the least bit fooled by this bit of bravado, Hercules just nodded tightly. "Yeah," he sighed, "sure."

Feeling awkward, helpless, wishing he didn't have to go, Hercules stood with his hands on his hips, struggling to find a way to say 'good-bye', but the words stuck in his throat. "Iolaus…I," he began.

But, his buddy just cut him off. "Come on," Iolaus said, "I'll walk you to the door." Turning, the hunter moved slowly toward the cave entrance, fighting the dizzy weakness every step of the way as Hercules followed along behind, only too well aware of Iolaus' hesitant gait. As he approached the mouth of the cave, Iolaus said over his shoulder, "Now, be careful, don't go so fast that you slip or fall into a crevasse. And, make sure you stop to eat…even a demigod needs nourishment. And, concentrate on what you're doing…don't be worrying about me, I'll be right here, waiting for you. And, take time to rest every other day…I know you, I know you'll try to go on forever without sleep but…"

His words were cut off as Hercules grabbed his arm and pulled him around into a tight hug. "Would you stop worrying about me," the demigod commanded gruffly.

"Well, somebody has to worry about you," Iolaus replied, trying for a note of gentle teasing. "Gods know, when I'm not around, you don't take proper care of yourself. And, Alcmene would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you."

A shudder of emotion rippled through Hercules' body as he held Iolaus even tighter for a long moment. "Just be here when I get back, okay?" he whispered past the lump in his throat.

"That's the plan," Iolaus murmured, hugging him right back. "Now, go on," the hunter said, pulling away, brushing the back of his hand across his eyes, giving Hercules an encouraging nod, and a last smile. "Go on," he repeated.

Wordlessly, Hercules searched his eyes, then nodded. He squeezed Iolaus' shoulder, his right hand clasping the arm Iolaus had held out to him, gauntlet to gauntlet, then he moved past his friend out into the light of the new day. For a long time after he'd gone, Iolaus stared at the spot where Herc had been before he'd disappeared around the curve of the shelf beyond the cave's mouth, heading north, to Tripolis.

Neither of them had been able to find the words to say 'good-bye'.

* * *

Leaving Iolaus behind was the hardest thing Hercules had ever done in his life. The sight of his partner, flushed with fever, smiling bravely, haunted his memory as he hastened along the narrow, slippery trail, moving as fast as he could without being foolish. Much as he dearly wanted to run flat out, he knew he'd do Iolaus no good, let alone all those people back in Amitraea, if he missed his step and fell for hundreds of feet onto the trees and rocks below. So, he pressed on, his heart twisted with fear and fury at what he was having to do…at what was threatening Iolaus. Watching the sun, he measured the handspans and tried to keep track of his progress. The journey through the hazardous mountain reaches was all taking too long.

Hercules picked up his pace, determined to cover the distance in record time. With grim determination, he crossed the first sheer cliff, clinging with his fingertips to infinitesimal chinks in the rockface. Reluctantly, as he eased across the rock, he had to finally accept that even with his strength, he couldn't have gotten Iolaus safely across this obstacle. Even with the bit of rope they'd brought, even tying Iolaus to his back, his buddy would have had to hold on, would have had to help balance their combined weight, and Hercules knew his friend didn't have the strength left for that. He found himself hating the mountains, hating the rugged face of Greece that had forced him to leave his buddy behind to suffer alone. Blind to the beauty of the snowcapped mountains that rose around him, he could only see the barriers that were slowing him down.

His fear driving him on, dangerously close to panic, he wasn't paying enough attention to the ground beneath his pounding feet. A heel slipped on a black patch of ice and he barreled forward, out of control, grabbing madly for the rock wall of the narrow ledge as he slid, then tumbled, skidding toward the edge where the shelf curved away in front of him.

"NO!" he shouted, his fingers scrabbling at the rock as his feet slithered into empty space.

* * *

When Iolaus finally turned away from the cave opening, he saw the sack of food and the two waterskins. "Damn it," he sighed. Herc had left without any supplies at all. Shaking his head at his buddy's deliberate selflessness, he stumbled back to the blankets and sagged down upon them. Shivering, he pulled the cloaks tight around himself, flipping up the hood and burrowing into their warmth as he curled up beside the fire, thinking about what he had to face in the days ahead. Influenza? Yeah. Right. He should be so lucky.

Sighing, he poked a stick into the fire, wondering just how bad it was likely to get, but then tossed the stick aside impatiently before drawing his arm back into the warmth of the cloaks.

It was Herc's job to get the medicine to those people.

It was his job to survive until Herc got back.

He knew he should eat, but he wasn't the least bit hungry. The very thought of food made his stomach roil with anticipatory nausea. But, resignedly, he knew he had to do everything he could to keep up his strength. Slipping one hand out from within the cloaks, he dug in the sack of food and pulled out a piece of cheese. Curling his lip as he contemplated it, he swallowed and took a small bite. Chewing it carefully, he forced himself to swallow past the raw wound of his throat. Waiting a moment to see if it would stay down, he nodded to himself and forced himself to take another bite before he tossed the remainder back into the sack. Reaching for a waterskin, he took a swallow, winced, than another.

Tossing a log onto the fire, he laid down and stared at the flames, trying to picture Hercules as he forged along the treacherous trail. He shook his head a little, worried about his friend. Herc wasn't exactly a cautious man at the best of times, and Iolaus knew the fear the demigod felt for him would be driving him past any bounds of reasonable care.

"Gods, Herc," he whispered to the air, "don't do something stupid…don't get yourself hurt on my account." Weary, still shivering, he curled tighter and tried to sleep.

* * *

Hercules caught hold of a ragged chunk of stone that jutted out of the wall, yanking himself to a halt just before he slipped into oblivion. "Damn it," he snarled, angry with himself for being so careless. Cautiously, he pulled himself back along the icy ledge and then stood, breathing hard. "Well, that was stupid," he muttered to himself knowing he'd pushed too hard, too fast. Cursing the ice and the wind, he carefully negotiated the narrow curve of the ledge, and carried on.

He was going to make it to Tripolis and get that damned medicine for the people of Amitraea, but even more, for Iolaus. If he was so careless as to get himself hurt or killed on the way, then he'd be killing Iolaus, too. For all his friend's brave talk about it just being a normal illness, Hercules knew the odds were against his friend. He'd been exposed to the plague for too long. So, Hercules couldn't afford to act thoughtlessly, to just react, to run because of the desperation he felt. Iolaus was depending upon him, and he would not let his best friend down.

Not much farther along, he came to the next and final cliff that he had traverse before the trail would get easier, heading down the easier slopes on the far side of the central mountain range toward the village of Tripolis. Grimly, he scanned the face of the cliff, looking for the least risky way across. Reaching out, he dug his fingers into the frozen rock, then pressing against the stone, he reached out for a foothold. Finding one, he eased off the shelf that had supported him, and began to creep across the almost vertical cliff, angling down, toward the ledge he knew was on the far side.

* * *

Iolaus woke, coughing, aching with fever, his head pounding. Dazed, he looked around the cave and noticed it had grown dark outside. The whole day had passed while he'd dozed restlessly by the fire. Pushing himself up, he reached for a couple of logs to build the flames higher. He knew the fever was worse, eating away at his strength, stealing his energy. He fumbled around for the waterskin and one of the rags. Soaking the cloth, he wiped it over his face and neck, his arms and chest, shivering a little at the icy cold of the wet cloth.

Feeling the urge to relieve himself, he pushed himself to his knees, then to his feet. Using the wall for support, he moved to the far side of the cave, fumbling at his belt. Panting with exhaustion, he did what he had to do, then stumbled back across the stone floor to his nest of blankets. Not bothering to tighten his belt, he slumped down, breathing hard. Doggedly, he forced himself to take two more bites of the cheese and another swallow of water.

"At this rate, I'll have enough food for a month," he muttered to himself, then giggled a little inanely before he caught himself. The fever was taking him to the edge of hysteria and he couldn't afford to lose his focus. Taking one deep breath, then another, he fought the dizziness. Deciding that sleep was the best idea, that at least it let the time slip by, he again pulled the cloaks around him and sank down on the blankets, sighing with resignation.

One day down…less than a week more to go.

* * *

The sky was gray with the first hint of dawn when Hercules loped toward the hill village of Tripolis. Silently grateful that villagers were usually up before the sun, he stopped at the first person he came to, a young shepherd herding a small flock of sheep up to the hills, to ask directions to the healer's home. The boy turned and pointed down the street behind him, explaining Hercules would find the man he sought in a cottage down the first side street to the left. Hercules clapped him on the shoulder and jogged into the village.

Reaching the cottage, he banged on the door, careless of the noise or of the disturbance he was causing.

"Hold yer horses," complained a voice from inside just before the door opened and a middle aged man squinted out into the dim light of the early morning, his eyebrows rising in surprise as his eyes traveled up the tall frame of the stranger on his doorstep. "Well, good morning. What can I do for you?" he asked, opening the door a little wider. The sun had not yet risen, but there was enough light for him to have made out the stark look of harried anxiety in the big stranger's eyes.

"I've come from Amitraea," Hercules explained hurriedly as he followed the man into the cozy interior of the little cottage. "There's plague there and we heard you have a cure you learned from Aesclepius. Please, tell me that's true."

The healer had stiffened in natural concern when he heard what had brought this man. Plague. Gods, those poor people. "Yes," he affirmed, much to Hercules' relief, "I have a recipe for a herbal cure."

"I need enough for three hundred people," the demigod clarified, wanting only to get what he needed, find a wagon and be on his way.

"Three hundred…" the healer repeated, stunned. "But, I've nowhere near that amount prepared…."

"Please, people are dying…I have to hurry. How long will it take you to make enough?" Hercules asked, his eyes dark with anxiety.

The healer rubbed the back of his neck as he considered what he needed, the supplies he had on hand, and where he could quickly find more…it was impossible. He had nowhere near enough. "It'll take me an hour to mix up what I have…but, I don't have enough here, only enough for perhaps fifty victims."

"But…" Hercules began, desperate.

The healer held up a hand, cutting him off. "But, I know where we can get more of the herbs that are required. There's an old hermit up in the hills who gathers what I need from the forests and fields in return for food and the comfort of an occasional flask of wine. I can tell you where to find him."

Blowing out the breath he'd been holding, the demigod nodded. "Fine, just give me the directions and I'll be on my way."

But, the healer hesitated. Assessing the man with a practiced eye, the man could see his visitor was exhausted. "Look, you need to rest a bit first. Sit down there by the fire and…"

But, Hercules cut him off, unwilling to lose any more time than was absolutely necessary. "No…I'm fine. I can't rest," he asserted, his eyes darting around the small cottage, his body tense, "I…I need to hurry. There's no time…."

Holding up a hand to stem the flow of anxious words, the healer shook his head. "I'll not give you the directions until you sit down there by the fire, and eat something. You've had a long journey, and it's far from over. You'll do no one any good if you collapse."

"But…"

"SIT!"

Resigned, realizing he was at the healer's mercy and there was no way he could force compliance and then expect the help he needed, Hercules nodded and slumped into the chair, leaning forward, his head in his hands. All he could think about was Iolaus up there alone in those mountains…wondering how his buddy was doing, afraid and desperate to be on his way back. Silently, the healer brewed a pot of tea and forced the demigod to drink some that he'd sweetened with honey, to warm him, and gave him cheese and bread. Hercules again tried to refuse, but the healer just frowned at him sternly.

"I'm not moving from this spot until you eat this young man, so you may as well let go of your stubbornness and do what I tell you," the man lectured.

Frowning, then realizing suddenly that he was indeed hungry, not having eaten for almost two days, Hercules took the food and bit into the bread. The healer, nodding in approval, went to a table under shelves loaded with herbs and began mixing the potion, pouring it into small, clay jugs as he worked. But, it was only minutes before Hercules was again standing at his side, looming over him, demanding the directions to the hermit's cave.

Sighing, recognizing defeat when he saw it, the healer complied. Hercules had bounded out the door almost before the last of his words had left his lips. Shaking his head, the man turned back to his work.

* * *

Iolaus was hot, weak, restless and getting very irritable. Much as he wanted to sleep, the aching of his muscles and joints made it impossible to get comfortable on the stone floor of the cave. He tossed another log on the fire, and forced himself to eat a few bites of bread, part of a dried apple and washed it down his raw throat with several small sips of water, wincing at the razor like sharpness of the pain in his throat. Sighing, he laid back, pulling the cloaks around him, wishing above everything else that he could stop the shivering, but the feverish chills were relentless.

Groaning a bit as he rolled onto his side, curled into a ball, he stared at the fire. As far as he could tell, he wasn't getting a lot worse, but the fever was too high and he felt like he was losing track of time and place. Feeling dull, not quite connected. Which wasn't good. He couldn't afford to let himself drift. He had to pay attention, remember to eat, even if only a little, and drink to replace the fluids the fever was burning out of him.

Gods, he hated being sick, hated feeling weak and helpless. At times like this, he felt like he spent half his life laid up for one reason or another, impatient to be better, impatient to feel strong again, and capable… not wasted with no more strength than a new born kitten.

He tried to remember how long it was since he'd awakened that morning, how many hours had passed. Frowning, he wondered where Hercules was now, hoped his friend hadn't run into any trouble. Weary, he wiped sweat from his face, stretched a little to ease his aching, stiff muscles. Gods, the hours crawled slower than a tortoise scraping along a rocky beach. Twisting again onto his back, he sighed and rubbed his temples, wishing the headache at least would ease up. Dazed, knowing he wasn't quite with it, he stared up into the dim reaches of the cave. He listened to the water trickling down the wall into the pool, heard the wind howl outside the entrance to the cave and the wood crackle in the fire…trying to stay connected with the world, to not just let the exhaustion carry him off to into everlasting darkness.

When the coughing spasm hit, he had to roll hurriedly onto his side, pushing himself up a little on one elbow to try to ease his breathing. Finally, gasping, he got himself under control. Weak, wheezing, he sank back onto the blankets, pressing his eyes closed as he concentrated on keeping his breathing steady.

Opening his eyes again a few minutes later, he went back to staring into the fire.

The problem with having nothing to do was that it left him with all too much time to think…to worry. And, there was no lack of things to worry about…like dying for example. Alone. In pain.

He told himself he wasn't afraid to die, that it was inevitable and would happen eventually, whether here in this cold, lonely cave or somewhere else at the hands of some bandit or in battle with a monster. But, the truth was, he was afraid. Oh, the experience of being frozen into stone by the SheDemon had given him a glimpse into the paradise of the Elysium Fields, but there were no guarantees that that was where he'd end up. Iolaus' thoughts wandered through his memories and he had to cringe…no, definitely no guarantees that he'd wind up in Elysium.

'Gods,' he sighed, 'I was such a rotten kid.' He saw himself smart-mouthing his father, and getting clipped across the back of his head for his impertinence. Saw his mother crying, when he fought with his dad, or when he was late, as usual, for dinner and she was worried; and, once, embarrassed to have Hercules compare his home with the immaculate house Alcmene kept, he'd commented nastily on what seemed to be the constant impoverished mess of their cottage. Most of the memories he had of his mother seemed to be of her crying. And, gods knew, the teachers hated him, and with good reason. Always restless and disturbing the class, bringing in toads or worms, or beetles he'd drop down somebody's shirt. Talking too much, studying too little, playing the clown to cover up his stupidity. Nope, not much to be proud of in any of that.

And, then, there was the small fact that he'd been a thief. Closing his eyes, he tried to shut out the memories of how many people he'd stolen from, how many people who had trusted him only to learn what a mistake that was. Somehow, he didn't think there were many thieves in Elysium. Sighing, he tried to console himself that he'd turned his life around…but, that was more Herc's doing, and Alcmene's, than his own.

'Face it,' he thought grimly, 'you're lazy, reckless, thoughtless, self-centred, lecherous, drink too much, like fighting too much and working too little…generally, all things considered, pretty hopeless.'

He'd be lucky to end up in the Asphodel Meadows, his principal task being to reflect on the error of his ways for centuries on end. Shuddering at the thought of it, he swallowed and pushed the uncomfortable memories of his past away. Because even if his survival depended on it, he was honest enough to know that he couldn't offer any deals that he'd make up for it all, given the chance. He was what he was…basically a good-natured jerk who got lucky enough to con a hero into being his best friend.

He wasn't likely to change, and he knew it.

But, regardless of where he ended up, eternity was a long time and Tarturus, or even the Asphodel Meadows, gods, even Elysium itself, held no charms. What would he do there for the rest of forever? Sighing, he thought about Anya and his sons, Deianeara and Herc's kids…but, much as he felt he was betraying the memory of their families, he didn't want to be with them. He'd get there soon enough. Gods, even a hundred years from now would be soon enough.

He wanted to live. He wanted to be with Hercules.

And, what would Herc do without him? He might only be a scruffy little mortal, but Herc needed this scruffy little mortal, really needed him.

Worried, his mind played scenario after scenario of Hercules going on without him, lonely whether anyone noticed or not, careless as ever of the dangers around him. Iolaus was tormented by fantasies of Hercules being ravaged by a monster he couldn't defeat alone, or of a spear impaling him from behind because there was no one to watch his back…Hercules battling pirates in the midst of a raging sea, being knocked overboard, unconscious, drowning because no one jumped in after him, to save him. Visions of Hercules sitting alone on dark cold nights beside a flickering fire, hungry because he'd lacked the skills to trap any wayward rabbits, filled the hunter's mind.

But, the last image just made Iolaus chuckle wryly, wondering if his buddy really did need him. The gods knew, Herc had always managed fine on his own those times when he'd gone off by himself after he'd lost his family, or when he'd refused to take Iolaus with him when Anya was still alive. Iolaus had never understood his buddy's adamant refusal to even consider letting Iolaus travel with him in those days.

Shrugging away that old mystery, Iolaus went back to thinking about what it would be like to die. Would it steal over him, his only awareness that his life was gone the sudden appearance of Celesta by his side? Or, would it be agonizing, humiliating, as he cried out for relief, for Hercules, knowing he'd never see his friend again?

Nausea gripped him, and bile rose to the back of his throat at that thought. Never see Herc again? His breathing grew fast and shallow, and panic gripped him. Gods, it couldn't end like this! He couldn't just fade away. Forcing himself to calm down, rolling to stare up into the dark cavern, he pushed away the terror and hopelessness. He would see Herc again. His buddy was coming back for him. Soon. He just had to hold on. Fight this damned disease, fight the fever and the weakness. Not give in.

Rolling back to the fire, burrowing into the cloaks, he gritted his teeth against the chills. Herc was counting on him being here when he got back. And, much as he had laughed at himself only moments before, at his overweening sense of self-importance in the demigod's life, he knew deep down that Hercules really did need him. Even if only because there was no one else crazy enough to face the same dangers, devoted enough to give up any kind of normal life to follow him anywhere.

"I DON'T WANT TO DIE!" Iolaus shouted in defiance into the silence of the cave, hoping that Hades would hear him and grant a reprieve. But, Hades didn't care, not about him. His only hope was that Hades would care enough about Hercules to allow the demigod to keep his partner for as long as a mortal life could possibly last.

"Gods, if you have any mercy, please don't take me from him yet," he whispered then. "I know I'm not good for much but he'll be alone when I'm gone…he doesn't deserve that. Doesn't deserve to have to face what you and the world throw at him, alone with no one to care about him, or about how he feels. He never asks for any favours for himself…but, gods, I know he needs me."

"Well, if you're right, that's a good reason to blow you away right now," drawled a sardonic voice.

Iolaus' eyes lifted to see the God of War standing strong and confident on the other side of the fire, an amused twist to his mouth, and his eyes laughing down at him.

"Go away, Ares," the hunter muttered wearily, looking away. He wasn't afraid of Ares, wasn't afraid this old enemy would make good his threat to blast him into oblivion. No, Ares enjoyed the game too much, enjoyed baiting them. And, sometimes, Iolaus even enjoyed baiting him back, but not today. He didn't have the energy.

"Ah, and here I thought I could keep you company," the God drawled, looking around the dreary cave. "Distract you from all those depressing thoughts of dying here, alone, in agony…."

"Yeah, right," Iolaus sighed, closing his eyes. Maybe, if he just ignored the black-leather clad god, he'd go away. If someone had to come to visit, why couldn't it be Aphrodite? Smiling a little at that thought, Iolaus shook his head. No, 'Dite wouldn't come. Disease and suffering gave her the screaming willies, too messy and 'icky' for her tastes. But, maybe Artemis….

"It's not nice to ignore your guests," Ares interrupted his thoughts. "Didn't your mother teach you to be polite? Even if she didn't, I'm sure the bastard's perfect little mommy would have made sure you learned the lessons of simple courtesy."

Resigned, Iolaus opened his eyes. "Still here? I was hoping you'd left," he sighed.

"Nah, I don't really have anything better to do," Ares replied with a jovial grin, moving around the fire to kneel down by the pool. He reached for the waterskins, filling them one after another. "I'm not going to help you, you know," he said, lifting his eyes to gaze at Iolaus, his expression inscrutable, his actions belying his words as he laid the 'skins within easy reach.

Iolaus chuckled weakly, as he responded, "I never for a moment ever thought that you would."

Standing the God of War continued, his voice curiously remote, "Nope, can't, even if I wanted to. And, why would I want to? It's not like you're any kind of warrior, or a selfless hero who risks everything to save other people. It isn't as if you've fought bravely in any number of wars or skirmishes ever since you were a kid…not like you were one of mine."

Frowning a little, listening, Iolaus watched Ares roam around the cave with an air of careless boredom, wondering why the god had come, why he was behaving so strangely. "I've never been 'one of yours'," the hunter murmured.

Snorting with amusement, Ares turned back to him. Drawling sarcastically, he replied, "Yeah, right. You've told me that before, remember?"

Iolaus looked away, remembering that time so long ago, when Ares had claimed him as his own after the young warrior had saved two children from cruel men who'd been planning to sacrifice them to this god.

"Yeah, I remember," he replied quietly, rejecting his awareness that he was, indeed, one of Ares'…all warriors were, whether they wanted to be or not. Turning back to gaze at the God of War, Iolaus rasped, "But, I've never belonged to you."

Affecting an air of sad regret, Ares shook his head. "No, that's always been only too clear. You don't belong to anyone except my troublesome and much loathed half-brother." With a taunting voice, he continued softly, "Does he know that you worship him, that he is the only god you acknowledge as worthy of your sacrifice?"

"Herc's not a god," Iolaus muttered, looking away, surprised at the unwelcome and unexpected insight Ares had just revealed to him.

"Oh, believe me, I know that," Ares said smugly, "but, I swear the two of you forget that fact on a regular basis."

"Go away, Ares," Iolaus whispered, "I'm too tired for this."

"Ah, the poor mortal is suffering, giving up…letting the mean old disease eat away at him. Poor Hercules, and here he's trying so hard to get back here as fast as he can, believing you'll never give in, never abandon him. But," sighed the God of War dramatically, as he squatted down to stare at Iolaus, "he's going to be shattered to discover that his belief in you is sadly misplaced." When Iolaus continued to ignore him, he went on in a seductively low voice, pushing for a reaction, "I swear, he considers you every bit as much of a god as he considers himself. Won't he be disappointed to find out how very wrong he is."

"Leave me alone!" Iolaus shouted, the fire of anger flashing in his eyes, banishing the dullness of the fever, the weakness of the disease that raged within him.

But, Ares just smiled as he stood. "Nope, can't help you, even if I wanted to," he said lightly, returning to the original subject. "Gods aren't supposed to interfere in the affairs of mortals."

Iolaus snorted in derision, clearly expressing his disgust and disbelief of that sentiment. "You all interfere often enough when it's to your advantage," he challenged.

Cocking his head, studying a man who conveyed a lot more energy and will than the one who'd lain there despairing when he'd first arrived, Ares grinned sardonically. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Too bad for you that I can't think of a single good reason to intervene for you now. Like I said, it's not like you're one of mine."

"Good-bye, Ares," Iolaus said, pointedly turning his head away.

"Nah, not 'good-bye'," Ares responded with an evil grin. "It's too much fun giving you a hard time. I'll leave for now…but, you'll see me again."

"Oh, goody," Iolaus snarled, turning back to glare at the god. "I can't wait."

Laughing uproariously, Ares blinked from sight.

"And, good riddance," Iolaus snapped, shifting his eyes to stare into the fire. Wondering. Did he really worship Hercules? He shook his head, confident that the God of War had been wrong. No, he didn't worship Herc, though he'd follow him anywhere, sacrifice anything for him. It wasn't worship, it was love, plain and simple. Nobody mattered more to him than Hercules did, and there was nothing else he wanted to do in this life but back up his friend, guard him as best he could, for as long as he could.

Chuckling, Iolaus rejected wholeheartedly the ridiculous notion that Hercules would ever consider him a god. No way. Not ever. The very thought was hilarious.

It was a while before he realized that he was feeling better, not so depressed. Stronger somehow, believing that maybe he really could last until Herc got back. Frowning a little thoughtfully, Iolaus shifted his gaze to stare at the empty space where Ares had been before he'd vanished.

'I can't help,' the God of War had asserted, more than once as he'd taunted and teased.

But, he had helped…he'd dispelled the despair, distracted Iolaus from his morbid thoughts…thoughts that were bringing him down. Confusion grew in the hunter's eyes as he wondered why Ares would do that, would come here to help him…it didn't make any sense. But, he had no doubt that the god had known full well what he was doing. Challenging him, lighting the fire of his anger, forcing the energy needed to resist.

Why?

'One of mine,' Ares had said, just as he had once before. Sighing, Iolaus struggled with the unexpected and uncomfortable feeling that maybe he should whisper a soft word of thanks to the god who stood for all that he and Hercules fought against.

But, maybe Ares was more than they gave him credit for, more than a bloodthirsty god, careless of the lives of mortals, reveling in the bloodlust of war. Warriors weren't just about killing. There could be honour and courage in war… integrity and self-sacrifice in a warrior's heart and soul. Disturbed, Iolaus pondered these ideas and wondered about the God of War, wondered if somehow he'd always underestimated Ares, overlooked the full breadth of what the god represented.

The thoughts preoccupied him for a long time. He forgot his fears of dying, forgot the despair. He scarcely noticed the hours of the second day drift by as he grappled with the new ideas, until finally he let himself relax with them and smiled softly.

"Thanks, Ares," he murmured then, but grinned as he continued impishly, "but, don't think this changes anything. I will never belong to you."

He could have sworn he heard the sound of rich, sardonic laughter taunting him, echoing off the walls of the cave. Chuckling in response, Iolaus let himself drift into sleep.

* * *

Hercules raced up the steep hillside, climbing high into the forest above Tripolis. It took him more than an hour to find the hermit's cave, and he was fretting at the time that was slipping away. Finally, though, he loped into a small clearing and spotted his quarry. The ancient man sat huddled before a small fire in the mouth of the cave. Long, greasy shanks of gray hair hung limply past his shoulders, and his grizzled beard flowed down to his belt. His clothing was plain but well patched and the fur cape over his shoulders kept the chill of the air from his bones. Ignoring Hercules, the hermit gazed vacantly down into the valley far below.

Hercules paused, not wanting to alarm the man by running full tilt at him. Quirking a brow, he studied the hermit for a moment, wondering why anyone would choose to leave the world, would choose isolation and loneliness, but then he shrugged and strode across the meadow to stand before the man.

"The healer in Tripolis sent me…he said that you'd give me the herbs he needs to make a potion," Hercules said quietly, but his voice was taught with urgency.

The hermit tilted his head to look up the long length of the demigod. Though he might be as old as the hills, his eyes were clear and sharp. "Did he? And did he send payment?" the man inquired.

Startled, Herc looked around, his hands open and empty. Shaking his head, he replied, "No, I left before…but, I'll see that he sends payment…"

Shrugging, indifferent to the anxiety and need he could see in this stranger's eyes, the hermit turned his gaze back to the fire. "No payment, no herbs," he said shortly, the conversation over as far as he was concerned.

Speechless, the demigod stared down at him. This was ridiculous. He didn't have time for this. "Look, you don't understand, I need those herbs…people are dying of the plague in Amitraea. The healer can't make enough potion to help them without the supplies you have."

Again, with maddening calm, the hermit lifted his eyes to study Hercules. "You say all that as if it should matter to me. It doesn't. People die. It's the way of the world."

Hercules frowned, looked around as he searched for words, for a way to make this man give him what he wanted, needed. Looking back down at the man, he squatted to face him across the fire, holding out a hand, trying to maintain a reasonable tone. "I really don't have time to argue philosophy with you right now. Will you please just give me the herbs, or must I enter your cave and simply take them?"

The hermit gazed deeply into his eyes. "Are you a bully? Or a thief? So many big men are. Fine, take what you want…and beat me into the bargain. I can't stop you," he taunted.

"I am not a bully!" Hercules protested, stung by the words. Frustrated, he shook his head as he continued, "Nor am I a thief." Tired, he'd forgotten the pouch in his belt, but he remembered it now with a sigh of relief. "Look, I have silver…I can pay…."

"I have no need of silver," the hermit replied, but a cunning light came into his eyes.

"What? Gods, man, be reasonable!" Hercules exclaimed, feeling harried and helpless. "It's all I have…I need those herbs! My best friend is dying from the damned disease. You have to help me!"

"Ah," murmured the hermit, "well, that makes it all different then…your friend's life being so much more important than anyone else's. What does it matter that a whole town full of people might die? But, your friend's life, well, he's worth them all put together, isn't he?"

Hercules flinched at the sarcasm, uncomfortable with the truth of it. Iolaus' life did mean more to him than any number of strangers, and he knew that wasn't right. More, he knew Iolaus would despise him for the sentiment. But, then, Iolaus had never particularly valued his own life all that highly. Resenting the man's sanctimonious manner, frustrated at the time that was being wasted in talk that was going nowhere, he pushed his fingers through his hair. Enough. He'd had enough. Sure Iolaus' life was worth more to him than the lives of people he didn't know…that was only natural. The fact of the matter was, if it was only Iolaus' who counted, he wouldn't be here arguing with this damned hermit. He'd have taken a vial of the potion and headed back up into the mountains.

But, he hadn't done that. Despite his acute awareness of Iolaus' desperate need for the medicine, despite knowing his buddy was suffering alone in that frozen cave, Hercules was here, arguing philosophy, to get the herbs needed to save the people in Amitraea. He had nothing to feel guilty about, unless it was that, when it came right down to it, he'd risk his best friend's life to save the lives of strangers. Gods, he couldn't win this argument, even with himself…it just went round and round, going nowhere.

The hermit had been watching the stranger, and he could see the confusion and frustration he'd evoked in the big man's eyes. Some folks were so easy to manipulate. The hermit ignored the twinge of guilt that came from the realization that the easiest were often the most decent. They cared too much. Certainly, this man cared…he was being torn apart by his conflicting emotions and values. Judging the moment right, knowing the stranger would grab at a reasonable solution to the quandary he was mired in, the hermit decided it was time again to speak.

"You have strength," the old man observed, his eyes playing over Hercules' body. "You look like a warrior."

Standing, exasperated, Hercules paced a tight circle, muttering, "What does that have to do with anything?" Turning back to look down at the imperturbable hermit, he sighed. Maybe he was a thief after all…the gods knew, there was no way he was going to leave here without those herbs. But, the thought of just taking what he wanted disheartened him…not even his desperate fear for Iolaus could blind him to what was right and what was wrong. Swallowing, preparing to move past the hermit into the cave beyond, he figured he'd just have to live with it.

"You could pay with your strength," the hermit suggested then, a slight smile playing about his lips.

The demigod frowned as he studied the old man, finally realizing that a game was in play, and that he was being manipulated. Frustration gave way to irritation as he wondered what the hermit was after. Hercules' eyes narrowed as he asked warily, "How?"

"There's a big cat lurking in the forest…dangerous. Kill him, bring me his body, and I'll give you what you want," the old man explained casually, as if it didn't matter much to him, one way or the other.

Hercules sagged as he closed his eyes, biting his lip. Like he needed this now. Why did everyone always want something of him? Why couldn't it ever be easy? His thoughts returned to Iolaus. This was a waste of time. What did he care if there was a mountain lion prowling the forest, a malevolent presence that threatened the security of this old man. After all, it was the hermit himself who had so coldly pointed out that people die, that it was the way of the world. If he took the time to chase after some damned cat, he'd be using up the precious time that Iolaus had left. He should just take the herbs and go. This wasn't his problem.

But, then, he looked down at the helpless old man and knew a mountain lion could easily kill the hermit.

How could he ever look Iolaus in the eye knowing that he'd walked away and left this old man to the questionable mercies of a mountain lion, even to save Iolaus' life. His buddy would never get over the sense of guilt at the cost someone else had had to pay that he might live. Rejecting this old man's need, walking away now, would be selfish and dishonourable. Though he was sick about the amount of time this would cost him, he couldn't do it…he just couldn't walk away when someone needed his help in a life-threatening situation. Staring into the old man's eyes, Hercules understood the bargain being offered only too well. 'Save my life and I'll give you what you need to save your friend.' The hermit didn't have to spell it out…the message was clear.

A life for a life was what was being asked.

A fair bargain.

Finally, reluctantly, the demigod nodded. "Where's the lair?" he asked, his voice tight in his throat.

The old man jutted his chin toward the opposite side of the clearing. "I've seen him over there, in the shadows of those trees, his cold eyes studying me. Sizing me up for his next meal. I don't know where his lair is…you'll have to track him."

"Great," muttered the demigod, turning to lope across the clearing. Iolaus was the tracker. Gods, how long was this going to take? Calling back over his shoulder, he directed, "Get the herbs ready for me to take back to Tripolis."

Smiling in satisfaction, the hermit rose and shambled back into his cave. The big stranger was a gift of the gods, one for which he was very grateful. The lion would have had him before much more time had passed.

Hercules slowed as he entered the forest, his eyes raking the ground for sign. Glad to see that the tracks were clear, he headed deeper into the forest, breaking off a good-sized limb from a tree as he passed by. Cats hunted at night. Hopefully, this one would be holed up in its lair, easily tracked, easily overcome.

It took him an hour, every minute of which itched at the back of his mind, reminding him that precious time was passing, time he couldn't afford to lose. Finally, he spotted the lair, a low cave under a rocky overhang. There were a lot of tracks here, but he thought the freshest ones indicated the cat had gone in and was still there. Pausing, he licked his lips, wondering how best to do this. It was dangerous to just walk in…it would be dark and the cat would hear him coming, could attack before his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the cave. But, it was more risky to draw the beast out, where it could evade him by disappearing into the forest.

Taking a deep breath, Hercules moved forward, stooping a little to clear the low entrance, his club held out in front as a kind of shield. His nose wrinkled against the stench of the cave…the rotten odor of the beast's half devoured meals. He paused when he heard the warning growl, his eyes darting toward the sound. There was a scrabble of claws against stone and he prepared for the attack, crouching a little, his club ready.

He saw the streak of golden fur that lunged toward him, illuminated by the light of the sun streaming in behind him, recognized the primal fury in the green eyes, and he held his breath as he swiveled and swung the club hard. His blow connected, barely, grazing off the animal as it twisted in the air, away from the assault, landing on its feet close to the wall of the low cave. Snarling, it shook its head, crouching to study this two-legged beast who had invaded its lair.

His eyes having adjusted to the darkness, Hercules watched the cat, his gaze rapidly darting away to quickly assess the environment, to get a sense of the size and shape of the lair, wondering if there was a back way out. But, it looked small, and it seemed he had the animal trapped, standing between it and the mouth of the cave. Regretting the need to kill it, but knowing it was necessary, Hercules advanced, stalking carefully forward, the club held high and ready for the killing blow.

But, the cat had no intention of simply waiting to die. Slinking back along the cave wall, trying to keep some space between itself and Hercules, its muscles bunched, readying itself to spring at the throat of this aggressive enemy. Hercules came closer, close enough to strike, but the cat launched itself up at him, under the blow, spitting with rage. Pushed back by the weight of it hitting his chest, dimly aware of the gashes the claws were raking in his skin while teeth sank into one shoulder, close to his throat, Hercules yelled loudly, his anger rising to match that of the cat.

Dropping the club, he grabbed the beast by the throat with one powerful hand, squeezing hard and pushing back, while his other fist came down to pound the animal's head, stunning it. Claws raked him, drawing more blood, tearing the leather of his pants, but heedless of the injuries, he pounded again, harder, smashing the lion's skull, killing it. The beast sagged in his grasp, the fangs tearing from his shoulder as the lion fell away.

"Aaoww," muttered the demigod, panting. Disgusted, he examined his shoulder and the slashes on his chest. Gritting his teeth, shutting the pain away, he bent and lifted the carcass, tossing it over his shoulder as he turned and headed back to the hermit's cave. The wounds might hurt, but they weren't life threatening. He ignored them. They weren't important.

Not having to follow dim tracks through the undergrowth, he could make much better time on the return journey. Less than half an hour later he dumped the lion's body on the ground at the hermit's feet. "Where are the herbs?" he demanded.

Seeing the blood smearing the stranger's chest and vest, the hermit turned to move back into his cave. "I'll bind your wounds," he offered, but Hercules cut him off, grabbing one arm in a grip that hurt.

"No, just give me what I came for," the demigod growled, impatient.

Looking back at him, the old man nodded and pointed toward three large sacks stuffed with the herbs he'd collected. Not knowing which ones the stranger had wanted, he'd packed all he had.

"Thank you," Hercules said with a brusque nod, then he turned, grabbing two of the heavy sacks with one hand and slinging them over his shoulder. Bending, he got a grip on the third and, without a backward glance, he raced across the clearing to the trail that would take him back to Tripolis.

Marveling at the stranger's strength and endurance, the hermit's eyes roamed back to the carcass at his feet, studying it, realizing finally it had been killed by one or more blows to the head. He looked back across the clearing, thinking about the man who'd just raced away, carrying the heavy sacks as if they were pillows stuffed with down. 'Gods, he's as strong as Hercules,' the hermit thought and then paused. And wondered.

* * *

Hercules spared no time getting back to the healer's cottage. Oblivious of the curious stares of villagers who saw the blood and watched him race by, he jogged through the streets of the tiny hilltown, then skidded to a halt before the healer's door. Not bothering to knock, he shouldered the door open, calling out, "I've got the herbs!"

The healer looked up, and gaped at the sight of the man before him…disheveled, covered in blood. "What in the name of Aesclepius happened to you?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"A lion…doesn't matter," Hercules replied disjointedly. "How long will it take to make the rest of the potion?"

The man looked down at the sacks the demigod had dropped on the floor. "A few hours," he replied.

Hours? No, he couldn't waste that much time. Gods, the sun was already headed toward its zenith. "Can't I just take it all with me? Couldn't you give me the recipe? Festius, the healer in Amitraea, could make up the potion there if he needs more than you have ready now," Hercules replied in a rush.

Pausing, the healer finally nodded. "Yes, that would work and it would save you time. But, first, I'm going to clean up those wounds."

"No time," Hercules protested, shaking his head, his hands coming up to stave off the healer.

The healer bristled. "Look, we've been through this before. You will sit down, calmly, and let me bandage those injuries, or I will not give you the recipe for the potion."

"For the love of…" the demigod exclaimed, frustrated beyond bearing. "Don't you understand, I don't have time for that!"

"Sit, now," ordered the unrepentant healer. No man, no matter what the urgency, was going to leave his cottage with blood smeared all over him and dirty gaping wounds left untreated. He had his pride. And, besides, he knew the distraught man needed to be cared for or those wounds could go bad.

"Urrggghhh," Hercules growled low in his throat, his fists clenched tightly at his side, but, beaten, he sat grudgingly and let the healer fuss over him. "Just…hurry," he muttered.

The healer worked as quickly as he could but he was thorough nonetheless. Finally, he was finished and stood back, nodding with satisfaction. Turning, he went to his work table, searched for a bit of parchment and a pen, wetted his small cake of ink and wrote out the recipe as Herc stood beside him, impatience radiating from him like tangible waves rushing toward shore. When the healer turned and held the parchment toward him, Hercules took it and folded it carefully, stuffing it securely under his belt.

"Where is the potion you've already made up?" the demigod asked.

The healer pointed toward three medium sized wooden crates stacked on the floor by the door. He'd packed the small stoppered jugs of medicine into the wooden cases, using rags to protect the fragile clay vessels from shattering by accident.

Gazing at the crates and then at the sacks of herbs, Hercules muttered, "I'll need to buy a wagon, and a team of horses."

Having anticipated the need, the healer had made arrangements with the village smithy while he'd waited for Hercules to return. "I've already taken care of that…the wagon is out back," he said, pleased at the gratitude he saw flare in the big stranger's eyes. Together, they bent to the task of transferring the supplies from his cottage out to the wagon. As soon as the boxes and herbs were loaded, Hercules turned to the village healer to grip the man's arm, thanking him sincerely for his help.

"I still think you should rest a while longer before you head out," the healer cautioned, worried at the deep lines of exhaustion he could see etched in the tall stranger's face.

"Thanks, but there isn't time. I'm alright, don't worry about me," Hercules replied, reaching for the pouch of silver at his belt he asked, "How much do I owe you for all you've done?"

"Just take care of those folks back in Amitraea," the healer said. "That'll be payment enough for me. The hostler in Napthlion will see that the wagon and team are returned, so there's no need to pay for them either."

Touched by the man's generous, kind spirit, Hercules smiled wearily, then nodded and climbed up into the wagon. Slapping the reins, he drove the horses out of the village, and up along the winding road that would lead over the mountains and down to the sea.

It wasn't until he was more than a mile away that he reflected that no one had asked his name, nor did he know theirs. In his driving urgency, lost in a fog of anxiety, he'd forgotten even the simplest courtesies. But, then, he shook his head, marveling that no one had questioned his mission. In their own way, they had all simply helped, understanding his need. 'Well, maybe not the hermit,' he thought wryly. Swallowing, he hoped the deal he'd made, a life for a life, would help more than just the townspeople in Amitraea… hoped desperately that in fulfilling the bargain he hadn't stolen the time needed to save Iolaus.

Flicking the reins, calling to the horses for greater speed, he tried to master his fear for his friend. The only reason he was here and not in a cave back in those mountains was to make sure he got the medicine the people of Amitraea needed, that Iolaus needed. And by the gods, he'd done it…gotten what they needed. Now, all he had to do was complete this journey, find a boat and get back to Amitraea. Otherwise, he'd be failing Iolaus, failing the faith his partner had in him. But, gods he hoped it wouldn't end there, that he wouldn't be too late to also save his friend.

As he'd planned, he traveled the rest of that day and all of the night, rolling into the wharf area of Napthlion about three hours after dawn. Stretching his stiff neck, he gazed up at the mountain that loomed over the village below, at the fortress high on the top of it. But, the mountain only reminded him of another mountain, miles behind him now.

Gods, it would still be at least four more days before he could get back to Iolaus. Swallowing, trying to steady his breathing, he wondered how his buddy was doing, fervently hoping that Iolaus wasn't suffering, that he was holding up against the illness that assailed him.

Pulling up the team beside the ship he judged would fly the fastest over the seas, a narrow beamed sleek vessel with two masts, he climbed down and strode up the gangplank in search of the captain.

* * *

Hercules hadn't been far wrong in his thought that a ship's captain wouldn't be all that thrilled to sail to Amitraea. No one knew what caused the plague and most suspected it traveled on the wind. A ship didn't have to make port to put her crew at risk…getting close enough to row to land could well be too close for safety.

"Look," Hercules persevered in the face of the man's stubborn resistance, raking his fingers through his hair, "your ship looks like the fastest in port, and time is…well, there isn't enough of it. People are dying while we stand here and argue. I have to get this medicine to Amitraea, and I assure you that even if you or members of the crew contract the fever, this medicine will cure you. It was invented by my cousin Aesclepius…you must have heard of him. You are in no danger!"

Mericus shook his head. Oh yes, he'd heard of Aesclepius, but as he'd already explained to the demigod, he had a full cargo and was set to sail in the opposite direction, across the Aegean to Ephessus. "You'll have to find another ship," he said. "I'm sorry about your people, but it's not my problem. I have other responsibilities."

"Responsibilities?" Hercules exclaimed. "Whose life depends on you getting your cargo to Ephessus next week rather than three days from now? Gods, man…how can I make you understand?"

His lips thin, his eyes avoiding the condemnation he saw in Hercules' frustrated glare, the captain of the vessel shrugged. "You'd better try one of the others. You're wasting your time here."

Exasperated, Hercules looked past the ship's rail, down along the wharf at the other ships docked there. Not an impressive lot, sitting heavy in the water, single-masted and ungainly. None of them would be able to make the trip in two days…they'd take three at least and more likely four. He didn't have that kind of time…Iolaus didn't have that kind of time.

Swallowing, Hercules tried to remain calm, and then wondered why he bothered. Swinging back to face the captain, he said with a low, tight, and very dangerous voice, "Maybe I haven't made myself clear. You are taking me and my cargo to Amitraea…and because of the time we've already wasted arguing, you are going to take me right into the port."

When the captain continued to balk, refusing to be intimidated, the demigod felt something snap inside. His arm darting forward, he grabbed the captain by the throat and lifted the man as he pulled him closer. Speaking barely above a whisper, Hercules snarled, "Perhaps you have forgotten that my uncle is Poseidon. I don't usually threaten to bring my relatives into my personal battles, but I really don't have time for this. My best friend and partner is one of the people who is dying from this damned plague, and I need to get this medicine to him as quickly as I can. Now, either you take me to Amitraea, now, or I promise you that this ship will sink long before it ever gets to Ephessus. Am I clear?"

Pale, seeing the rage in the demigod's eyes, the captain finally realized that he wasn't dealing with someone who was entirely sane. Nor did he doubt the threat about Poseidon. Squeaking a little, given the pressure on his throat, Mericus still tried to maintain some semblance of dignity as he replied, "Well, alright, fine, if you insist…"

His eyes hard as steel and just as cold, the demigod put the man back on the deck. "Get your sailors to help me load the supplies and then one of them can drive the team up to the hostler for return to Tripolis…and, believe me, if even one vial of the medicine is broken by being handled roughly, I'll…."

But, he didn't have to finish the threat, as the captain cut in, assuring him nervously, "Don't worry, I'll oversee them personally." Backing away from the dangerously angry demigod, the master of the vessel called over his shoulder for his first mate to order him to gather sailors immediately to help load the new cargo.

"Thank you," seethed the furious demigod, his fists clenched as he turned to stride back down to the wagon, helping to unload it to ensure they did so as quickly as possible.

As they loaded the supplies and he saw that the crates were being stored carefully, he forced himself to calm down. When the captain came back on deck, Hercules gazed at him without expression. "How long to get to Amitraea?" he demanded.

Mericus gave the orders to cast off before turning back to the demigod. Looking up at the sky, watching the clouds, he replied a little huffily, having regained a bit of his confidence as the master of the vessel, "Less than two days if the wind holds. I trust that will suffice?"

"That will 'suffice' nicely," Hercules replied tightly, turning away to grip the rail of the forward deck, staring out to sea.

* * *

Iolaus groaned though he tried to bite it off, not any more given to self-pity when he was alone than when others were nearby. But, he couldn't help it. The pain was bad, real bad. Cramps twisted in his gut, and his chest was tight with congestion, making it hard to breathe. The fever hadn't let up, had gotten worse, spiking so high sometimes that he knew he'd lost touch with reality for hours at a time. He remembered that he'd had the strangest dream…he and Hercules had been fighting some Amazons, and he'd been killed. He'd felt the burn of the blade ripping through his body…but, then, he'd been alive again, sitting down to dinner with Anya, Hercules and Alcmene. Shaking his head, deciding the dream, the pain of it, had been caused by the cramps in his belly, he let it go. It wasn't important, wasn't real. Fumbling for the damp rag on the stone beside him, he tried to push himself up to dip it into the pool, having used up the water in the 'skins sometime before…he couldn't remember exactly when.

But, the pool was out of reach. Breathing heavily, panting with the pain, he rolled to the side and pushed himself closer to the pool, dragging himself close enough to soak the rag. Collapsing back, he gathered his strength to lift the rag and run the dripping cloth over his face, neck and chest. The icy chill against his burning skin made him shiver, and his teeth started to chatter in reaction. A coughing spasm took him, robbing him of breath and he struggled to roll onto his side, wordlessly cursing in frustration.

It seemed an eternity later before he could finally get his breath. Shuddering with weakness, his lips trembling, he sagged under the cloaks, pressing his eyes closed against the brightness of the flames. Gods, everything hurt…everything was so hard. Just breathing was hard.

"Stop it," he whispered with a hoarse rasping breath to himself. "Stop whining. Gods, you are such a wimp. Be a man…you can do this. Herc's counting on you. You can do this…."

Yesterday, when he'd been stronger, he'd used his meditation techniques to distance the pain. But, he was afraid to use them today, afraid he'd lose track of where he was, who he was. His mouth was dry and he knew he needed water. Stifling a moan, he slowly rolled onto his other side, his trembling fingers getting a grip on one of the waterskins. Fighting off another coughing jag, he pushed himself up on an elbow and leaned forward to dip the 'skin into the icy water. Pulling it back out, he dragged the 'skin along the stone then raised it to his lips, almost gagging at the pain of it in his throat.

'What day is it?' he wondered. 'How long have I been here?' Frowning, he tried to work it out, wondering if Hercules would have made it to Napthlion by that point but figured Herc wouldn't have had time to get that far yet. Thinking of the port town made him think of the sea, the endless waves, rolling forever, unchanging but never the same. Eternal. Peaceful. His eyelids drooped closed and he lost consciousness, grateful for the darkness that closed over him.

* * *

Now that he was on the ship, Hercules didn't have anything to do but wait until they made landfall. Sick with worry for Iolaus, he paced the deck for a good part of the day before he realized he was being foolish and that this kind of behaviour would do his friend no good. He had two days of hard travel once he reached Amitraea to get back to that mountain cave…and he hadn't slept since he'd left it, how many days ago? Startled, he realized he'd lost track, and that let him know just how bad a shape he was in.

Rubbing the back of his neck, sighing with weary despair, he turned and headed to the hatchway. He had to go belowdeck and find someplace to get some rest.

Hercules hadn't thought he'd be able to sleep, so it was with some surprise that he woke and discovered he'd slept for almost twelve hours and the next day had already dawned. He yawned, and stretched, then froze as he realized something wasn't right. Frowning, he headed toward the hatch to climb back on deck, tense, afraid. The boat wasn't moving. It wasn't moving!

Reaching the deck, Hercules gazed around, appalled. The sails hung limp, empty of wind. Tendrils of fog drifted over the water around them, the heavy mist obscuring everything but the gently rolling, silent sea that surrounded the ship. "Dammit," he snarled, striding over to confront the captain. "How long have we been stalled here?" he demanded.

The captain looked away from the fog, sighing as he responded. "A couple of hours. The wind just fell away and the mist settled in. There's no way of telling how long it will last, or how far off course we'll drift before it lifts."

"Why didn't you wake me?" exclaimed the agitated demigod, raking fingers through his hair. They couldn't just drift…they needed to keep moving.

"Why would I wake you? What can you do about this?" Mericus retorted, waving his hand helplessly at the damp mist that surrounded them.

What indeed? Hercules bit his lip, then nodded to himself. "Get me a rope. We'll tie it to the bow, and I'll drag this damned boat through the sea until we get past this fog," he said, determined, not willing to give up, not willing to accede to the Fates who seemed determined to frustrate his mission.

"Are you mad?" Mericus demanded, shaking his head. Gods, demigod or not, the man was a fool.

"Just get the rope," Hercules snarled back, dark eyes boring into the captain's. Rolling his eyes, Mericus called to a sailor to bring the length of rope curled nearby, then turned to stride to the bow. Hercules took the rope from the seaman, securing one end of it around his waist as he followed the captain along the deck, then tied the other tightly to the bowsprint. Placing one hand on the rail, he leapt over the side and plunged into the sea below.

Coming back to the surface, treading water, he called back up, "Which way?"

Sighing with resignation, Mericus pointed to the west, a little to the left off the bow. Drifting in the current, the boat had slipped from its heading, and was angled now toward the north.

Wordlessly, Hercules turned in the water, striking strongly out toward his goal. As he swam away, the slack came out of the rope, until it was stretched tightly between him and the ship. As it pulled taut, he could feel the heavy drag, the resistance of the vessel to turn back against the current. But, his jaw tight, his muscles straining, he kicked hard and mighty arms reached over his head to scoop the water, drawing himself forward. Again, and again, until the ship started to move, coming around. Mericus grunted in surprise then grinned despite himself as the sailors cheered the valiant effort. It wouldn't be quick, but they were moving…if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he'd never have believed it.

Hercules ploughed ahead, dragging himself and the boat behind him, through the water, slowly, so agonizingly slowly. His muscles burned with the effort, but he wasn't about to quit. Nothing was going to stop him from getting back to Iolaus. Minutes ticked by, the cheering died away, and then it was just him, and the fog, and the silence of the sea.

He lost track of time, all his focus on the tired, stiffening muscles that protested this abuse. He might be strong, stronger than anyone could really imagine, but this extraordinary effort taxed even his great capacity. He refused to acknowledge the weariness, but then floundered helplessly as a cramp broke his rhythm, and he had to fight to stay afloat.

The sailors watched anxiously, and one prepared to jump overboard to go to his aid, but then they all fell back in awed terror.

Hercules was rising up out of the water. Squirming around in the unexpected grip, Hercules looked up and saw his uncle emerge from the waves, supporting him in the palm of one hand.

"Poseidon!" Hercules gasped, still coughing up water he'd swallowed as he'd begun to sink below the surface.

Shaking his head, the God of the Sea rumbled, "Stubborn, always so stubborn. And never willing to ask for help…afraid of what might be required in return. Tell me, Hercules, what good would you do Iolaus if you drowned here today?"

"What? How did you know…?" Hercules gaped. He knew only too well that gods were not 'all-knowing', far from it. How had Poseidon learned of the peril Iolaus was in? And, why would he care?

Hercules didn't know that in a moment of despair, Iolaus had called upon the gods, to let him live for Hercules' sake. It was enough to let them all know of the drama being played out in the mountains of the Pelopponese. Nor did he realize his uncle had heard the demigod invoke his name when Hercules had threatened Mericus back in Napthlion.

But, Poseidon had heard. And though the rules prohibited him helping a mortal, there was nothing to say he couldn't lend his favourite nephew a hand. Besides, he owed Zeus' son for a deed done long ago, when Hercules had saved Poseidon's son from the vicious pirate who had kidnapped him, and was prepared to kill the boy in spite.

Still, Hercules didn't need to know he'd earned this intervention. It wouldn't hurt the lad to feel a little gratitude.

"You'd be surprised at what I know, nephew," replied the massive God, as he gazed with some amusement at the sailors who had prostrated themselves on the deck of the floundering vessel. Turning his eyes back to Hercules, he rumbled, "Nor do you need to know."

Snapping the fingers of his other hand, Poseidon bellowed out, "CYRUS! Come to me!"

Hercules cringed, his hands covering his ears, as he gazed around at the sea. Cyrus? But, he couldn't help grinning with relief when he saw the massive head of the sea serpent appear moments later, the beast's jaw gaping wide in delight.

Though the sea monster was only smiling, the horrified sailors shivered and looked away, certain the monster was about to swallow the demigod…and they had no doubt whatsoever that they would be next.

The rope around Hercules' waist magically disentangled itself, floating through the air to wind around the sea serpent's neck. "Cyrus is better suited to the task of pulling this vessel through the seas than you are, Hercules. Why don't you just relax and let him do the work, hmmm?" Poseidon drawled as he gently set his nephew back upon the deck of the ship.

Bemused by this very unexpected help, Hercules stared up at his uncle. But, then his eyes clouded as worry crashed back into his consciousness. "Poseidon…do you know if Iolaus is alright?" he asked quietly.

The amusement died from Poseidon's eyes as he looked soberly down at his brother's son. Sighing, he replied, "He's weakening, Hercules. I'm sorry, I do not know how much longer he can survive."

Hercules staggered back a half step, shaking his head. "No," he whispered, closing his eyes. Then he looked back up at his uncle, his gaze imploring, as he asked, "How fast can Cyrus take us through the sea?"

"Faster than any wind," his uncle replied, signaling to the sea serpent to be on his way. "May Fortune smile upon you," he called to his nephew as the ship lurched then ploughed rapidly away in the wake of the monster.

Hercules gripped the rail, looking back at his uncle, a lump in his throat and tears stinging his eyes. He didn't understand why Poseidon had decided to help him, nor did it matter. He just knew that he owed the god for the unexpected gift of help, and someday he'd find a way to repay him. "Thank you," he managed to choke out, waving as Poseidon sank beneath the waves.

The sailors gave him a wide berth, frightened and in awe of what they'd seen…still terrified by the proximity of the ferocious sea monster pulling them through the fog. This was a story they'd tell for the rest of their lives…though no one would ever believe them.

An hour later, they cleared the fog bank, and wind again filled the sails, enabling Cyrus, Nautica's pet, to pull them ever faster toward Amitraea. Hercules found himself studying the narrow strip of green he could barely see on the northern horizon, and the white capped mountains blending into the sky, as he replayed his uncle's words over and over again in his mind. Iolaus was up there, somewhere in those mountains.

Waiting for him.

Dying.

'Gods, hang on,' he thought desperately, fear clutching at his heart, twisting in his belly, making it hard to breathe. 'Please, Iolaus, don't give up.'

Forcing himself to turn away from the horizon, he again began pacing the deck, restless, wishing there was some way to get there faster, but there wasn't and he knew it. With Cyrus' help, they were already making better time than he'd had any hope of achieving when they'd left Napthlion. Spotting the captain on the foredeck, he headed in that direction. Getting the man's attention, he called up, "At this speed, when will we arrive?"

Mericus had not taken his eyes from the sea monster, certain that at any moment the serpent would turn against them and batter his ship into the sea. Turning at the shout, he frowned down at this unwelcome passenger who had brought his crew into such peril, but the frown faded when he saw the haunting despair in the demigod's eyes. Gods, the man was truly suffering. Relenting, he reflected that he was a fool to be worried. Hadn't the God of the Sea rescued the demigod when it seemed he must drown, and then summoned this monster to aid him in his quest? Mericus realized then that he was part of a miracle, whether he understood it all or not. "We should make port soon after sunset," he called back, "so long as the winds hold true and, Cyrus is it? So long as Cyrus keeps hauling us ahead at this speed."

Nodding, Hercules turned away and resumed his pacing, back and forth along the deck, only marginally aware of his surroundings, his mind and heart miles away.

* * *

Iolaus blinked and thought something seemed different. It took him a while to realize what it was. Dark. It was darker than it should be. With a cold awareness, he rolled toward the fire and with a sinking sense of fearful despair, he saw that only red coals remained. Gods, how long had he been out this time? He lifted a leaden arm and pulled a log onto the fire, being painfully careful not to smother the few coals that still survived. Lying with his face near the ashes, he blew gently, again, and again, until he'd encouraged the flicker to grow into a flame.

It was only when he stopped concentrating on the fire that his eyes lifted and met the yellow, slanted eyes reflecting back the flickering light of the new fire. He froze for a moment, holding his breath as his eyes raked the shadows, picking out the shapes of the other predators that had skulked into the cave attracted by the scent of easy prey, becoming brave as the fire had died. Feral hunger glittered in their eyes, and the uncertain light of the tiny flames illuminated the sharp canine teeth in the open, panting mouths.

Wolves.

A low growl rumbled from the throat of the lead animal as it took a step closer, not liking the sudden light of the fire, but driven forward by its hunger and its cunning assessment of the vulnerability of its prey.

* * *

Hercules stood at the ship's rail, his knuckles white as he gripped the wood. The sun had set an hour before, obscuring the sight of the land to the north, but still he stared in that direction, knowing Iolaus was up there somewhere, waiting for him. The anxiety had been building in his chest throughout the endless day. Gods, he hated this. Feeling helpless…the waiting.

The wood snapped beneath his hand. Muttering a curse, Hercules looked down at the damage he'd unconsciously wrought. Taking a deep breath, trying to quell the turbulent emotions seething within him, he shook his head, then turned to pace the deck. But, he couldn't shake his feeling of dread. He knew Iolaus needed him, knew his buddy was up there in the wilderness, sick and alone…worse than sick, maybe dying. Over and over, he told himself he'd had no choice but to go. To have stayed would have done Iolaus no good, beyond being able to give him some comfort and relief…Hercules knew he didn't have it in his power to have made his buddy well. No, he'd needed to go for the medicine, for Iolaus as much as for the people depending on them.

And, much as his rational mind knew he couldn't have carried Iolaus out of there, that the trail over the mountains had been too hazardous, he still felt overwhelming guilt for having left Iolaus behind. What if when he got back, he found he was too late? A shudder rippled through him, leaving him feeling physically ill. Looking up at the sky, the moonlight illuminating the deep, drawn lines of worry on his face, he clenched his teeth, biting off a scream of frustration and despair. Every muscle in his body was rigid with tension, with the need to be moving, to be racing through those hills…climbing up into those mountains that were still so far away.

Gods, his buddy had to be waiting for him, his incredible, indomitable spirit still fighting against impossible odds. His friend wouldn't let go…wouldn't give up and just slip away.

Turning his face back toward the mountains his eyes couldn't see, he whispered, "Iolaus…."

Just that. A name, a wish, a hope…a prayer.

His throat tightened and his eyes burned with tears he refused to shed. They were tears of self-pity, of fear of what his life would be like if Iolaus didn't make it. Disgusted with himself, with the ache of emptiness inside that clutched at his heart at his fear of losing his partner, of the hopeless, endless years that would be all that would be left to him without his best friend by his side, he swallowed hard and blinked the moisture away. This wasn't about him, about what he'd lose, about his fears…this was about Iolaus, getting back to him, helping him before it was too late for the hunter. It was about what Iolaus was suffering, alone. Gods, his best friend didn't deserve to be going through this, not any of it, especially not alone.

Growling low in his throat in anger and frustration, Hercules went back to pacing the deck, pacing out the minutes until they finally made their way to the port in Amitraea.

* * *

As the wolf took a pace toward him, Iolaus pushed himself up from the blankets, slowly, trying to remember where his sword…? By the pool. He'd taken it off the first night and laid it by the pool. Leaning back, his limbs trembling with weakness, his fingers sought behind him for his weapon. When he grasped the pommel, he almost sagged in relief, but there was no time for that. Shifting, bringing the sword forward, he continued edging away, to get his back against the rock wall of the cave. He knew he'd need its support to stand.

The wolf growled again, louder, its ears back and its jaw gaping as it stalked closer. Others, made impatient by their hunger, crowded in behind him. The fire caught the log and flamed, causing them to pause a little, hesitant in their unconscious wariness of the scent of both fire and man. It gave Iolaus the precious moments he needed to push himself up to stand weakly against the wall, both hands gripping the hilt of his weapon. He gritted his teeth against the dizziness and weakness that blurred his vision. Taking a deep breath, he willed his arms to lift the tip of the heavy blade from the floor so that he held it before him, the weapon trembling in his hands.

They came at him from either side of the fire, rushing low and silent in their attack. Shouting out, his voice raspy but loud with his terrible determination to live, he swung the blade, cutting one deeply in the shoulder, sending the now lame beast howling back and then, without pause, swinging it back to slash the neck of the one leaping at his throat. The wolf flung itself back from the painful assault, sprawling awkwardly on the ground, its claws scrabbling on the stone as it fought to regain its feet.

Maddened by the smell of blood, the others snarled and tried to move closer, frustrated with the narrow confines of the cave, wary of the fire, snapping at their two wounded companions whose bulk blocked them from clear access to their prey. Gasping, Iolaus was leaning heavily against the wall, trying to bring his sword back up, but his muscles were quivering with weakness. He shouted again, breathlessly, trying by the sound of his voice to drive them back.

But, they were hungry, and determined.

Without warning, just as another had pushed past the wolf with the bloody shoulder, the earth shuddered and ground beneath their feet, pebbles and fist-sized rocks tumbling from the ceiling to sting them and send the pack into confusion. Iolaus staggered sideways, almost falling. There was a terrible, tearing rumble building to a roar around them, as if the very walls of the cave were screaming out in defiance.

Whining in terror, the wolves pulled back confused. When the earth shifted again, pitching Iolaus to his knees, they turned and streaked for the mouth of the cave, escaping this soon to be tomb. The wounded wolves scrambled after the others, but were too slow. Boulders thundered down the mountain from above, crushing the beasts beneath their weight just as they cleared the mouth of the cave.

Dropping the sword, Iolaus crouched by the wall, curled with his arms over his head to protect himself from the falling pieces of stone. Dust blew back from the mouth of the cave, filling the air, choking him. Doubled over, he gagged and coughed, holding his sides against the pain of cramps and the wrenching coughs that tore through his congested chest.

The sound died away and the dust settled. Heaving for breath, he lifted his head to stare toward what had been the mouth of the cave and was now a wall of jumbled stone. With a trembling hand, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and pushed back damp curls. Swallowing, he quickly checked out the ceiling, sighing a little when he decided it still looked solid. Shaking his head weakly, he wasn't sure whether to thank Poseidon, God of the Sea and EarthShaker, for sending such a timely earthquake to save him from being the beasts' dinner, or Hades, for having built him a tomb. Or, the Fates maybe, for weaving a complicated pattern…or Fortune for finally smiling upon him.

Weakly, he crawled back toward the fire, collapsing on the blankets. He neither knew nor cared that the leaping wolf's claws had ripped through the uppermost cloak before Iolaus' sword had driven it back. Curling on his side, he stared at the rock filling the entrance, less concerned about being entombed than wordlessly grateful that all that stone was between him and the wolves. Fighting back the darkness that danced on the edge of his vision, he laughed a little hysterically in relief and with the bizarre realization that this could, indeed, become his tomb. But, the laughter turned into another coughing fit, leaving him gasping for air.

He'd had little strength left before the wolves had attacked. Now, he had none. But, in an odd way, having survived the attack cheered him, gave him hope and his lips curved in a weak smile. Surely, after the narrowness of the escape, the ghastly bitter disease couldn't take him. The memory of his raw desire to survive renewed his determination to fight with everything he had left within him.

Rolling back with a groan, his eyelids so heavy he could barely keep them open, he stared dazedly up at the ceiling of the cave. He needed something…what was it? Oh, yeah. Water. Slowly, with grim determination, he rolled onto his side and dragged the waterskin toward his lips, only to find it was once again empty. "Damn it," he sighed, taking a breath and dragging his heavy body toward the pool. One part of him knew it was only a matter of inches, but the effort was such that it could have been an unbelievable distance. He had to stop and rest, then drag forward again. Finally, he filled the 'skin and drank, then lay back down, gasping for air.

His hands played over the woolen cloaks that had twisted around him, wanting to pull them off. He was so hot…so very hot. But, he couldn't seem to figure out how to do it. 'Just as well,' some still rational part of his mind advised him. 'You'd lose consciousness and freeze to death.' Compromising, he tipped the waterskin over his head and let the icy water drench him. He rubbed at his face, his fingers feeling the odd, bristly growth of beard that was the only tangible thing in his life that helped him keep track of the passing days.

He shivered again as he thought about the ravening look in the eyes of the wolves, his mouth dry as he remembered how it had taken all he had to stand and swing the sword. Laughing again, this time mirthlessly, his eyes haunted, he sagged back against the cold blankets beneath him. With a cold, almost remote rationality, he took stock of his situation, then sighed wearily, utterly exhausted as he closed his eyes.

Gods, he was a wreck. Sometime before, in an earlier age, a day ago? two days? he'd kicked off his pants on the far side of the cave and had left them there. They were just one more problem to contend with and in his weakness, he couldn't be bothered. So far, he'd still managed to crawl some distance from his blankets to urinate, but even that small task was beyond him now. The confrontation with the wolves had taken the last of his physical strength. He knew he'd soon be fouling his little nest of cloaks and blankets, too weak to help himself, and he whimpered a little in self-disgust. He felt rage at his helplessness, his weakness. But, after a time, even that took too much energy.

"Focus, Iolaus," he mumbled to himself, giggling a little inanely at the rhyme, struggling to hold onto some part of himself, some awareness, knowing he needed to do this or he'd sink into the darkness and might never find his way back. "Focus, Iolaus…Iolaus…focus…"

But, he drifted, having lost all track of time and space, just knowing he was burning up, and that the pain was getting worse, consuming him.

Poseidon watched, a frown of worry darkening his visage. The lad was failing. Turning away, he reflected he'd done all he could, smiting the mountain to terrify the wolves and drive them away, blocking the mouth of the cave so that they couldn't get back inside to ravage the mortal hero. Normally, he couldn't have done anything to help, but just as he had owed Hercules, he also owed this valiant mortal. Iolaus had not known his courageous gesture of sacrificing himself to the sea monster to save the young boy held captive by the pirates had been unnecessary. He'd had no way of knowing, then, that the child was the son of Poseidon or that the sea monster was more playful than deadly. No, he offered up his own life so that the child's life would be spared, and for that, he'd earned Poseidon's gratitude…had earned a favour.

A life for a life.

Poseidon's debt to the two heroes was now, finally, fully repaid.

* * *

Even though they knew it would take days for Hercules and Iolaus to return with the medicine they craved, anxious and hopeful townsfolk took turns keeping a lookout on the approaches to Amitraea. While they'd figured out for themselves that the heroes would likely come by sea, they also watched the roads.

And, so it was, when one of the men saw a ship hove into the harbour, he raced back to the temple, calling for the healer. In the darkness, the excited man had not seen the head of the sea serpent, nor would he. Cyrus had disappeared beneath the waves as soon as he spotted the port, the rope dangling now limply in the sea as the ship carried on with the wind in her sails.

"They're here! They're back!" In their hope, they never considered that any other ship would come. It had to be them…it had to be the medicine that was arriving down at the docks.

Twenty men raced back to the harbour, in time to help tie up the ship. When one spotted Hercules he cried out, and they all began to cheer raggedly, tears running down their faces. They were saved, their families were saved. Some fell on their knees to thank the gods.

Watching from the foredeck, Mericus felt shame. He'd tried to deny these desperate people what they so sorely needed. Looking away, he had to swallow a lump in his throat, but then he was bellowing out orders to his crew to unload the precious cargo and to carry it where the men on the dock directed. The sailors were afraid, and he cursed them, laying about them with his whip, lashing them, driving them to their duty.

Chastened, they scrambled down to the hold and carefully bore the wooden crates and the sacks of herbal ingredients up onto the deck then down to the dock. Hercules carried the first box ashore, pausing only to gaze briefly back at the captain, nodding tightly, having already placed cold pieces of silver into the man's hand to pay for his reluctant detour when they'd rounded the headland of the bay. With a murmured, "Thank you," the demigod turned away to stride ahead of the others, up through the twisting streets of the town to the temple.

The healer was there waiting for him. At first, in his euphoria, Festius didn't notice the demigod's friend wasn't there. But, as the sailors followed Hercules into the light cast by the lanterns around the temple entrance, he frowned. "Where's Iolaus?" he asked the grim faced demigod who stroke up the marble steps toward him.

"Sick…I had to leave him in a cave up in the mountains," Hercules explained briefly, tension clear in his voice. Unconsciously, his eyes sought the far hills, invisible now in the darkness.

"Oh, gods…I'm sorry," sighed the exhausted healer, drawing Hercules' eyes back to him. The flash of resigned sorrow in his eyes made the demigod cringe with the realization that Festius already counted Iolaus among the dead. Swallowing, Hercules hastily explained about the medicine and the supplies he'd brought, laying down the box and pulling the notes from his belt, along with the pouch and what was left of the silver.

"There's enough here for about fifty people, but if you need more, this is how it can be made," he said handing the parchment to Festius.

"You've saved this town, Hercules. We'll never find a way to thank you…" the healer sighed in profound relief.

"You don't need to thank me…just give me enough of the medicine to take to Iolaus," Hercules replied, anxious to be on his way.

Startled, Festius looked up from the notes he'd already begun to study in the dim light, pity filling his eyes. "Take? But, Hercules, surely you can't believe he's still alive…?"

His jaw tight, the demigod replied hoarsely, "I have to believe it. And, I'll need other herbs as well, to ease his fever…I need them NOW."

Festius took a half step back at the aggressive tone, and looking more closely, he could see the Son of Zeus was close to losing control. The desperation was clear in his eyes, and in the rigid muscles of his body. "Of course," murmured the healer. "I'll get what you need immediately."

Though Festius harboured no hope whatsoever for a man stricken with the plague and left to suffer alone in the frozen heights of the mountains, he knew there would be no reasoning with Hercules. He owed the man all the help he requested, and hastened to do what he could. The healer packed together not only the medicine and herbs, but food, two cloaks and other supplies the demigod might require if, by some miracle, his friend was still alive when Hercules got back to him.

Gratefully, the demigod took the supplies and turned to go, pausing for a moment to look back at Festius. "Virgil's son?" he asked quietly, his eyes clouded.

"Still alive," the healer smiled warmly, "and now, because of you, he and the others here will survive."

Herc looked down and nodded tightly once, muttering, "Not only because of me…."

And then he was racing out of the town, out across the dark countryside, heading toward the mountains in the north.

* * *

Iolaus wearily rolled a log onto the fire. Vaguely, he knew he should drink some water, but the 'skin was empty again, and he just didn't have the strength to fill it. He had no idea how many days had passed. Was no longer sure he really cared. The fever was leaving him confused and it was only the dogged strength of his will and stubborn determination which made him go through the motions of doing what he needed to do. Not really aware, he slipped into a restless doze.

The fever burned relentlessly, climbing higher, and he thrashed weakly, his mind tormented by horrible visions of monsters and angry gods. He felt fangs, like white-hot daggers, plunging into his chest and abdomen, waves of agony radiating through his body, and tried to fight the monster off, but the teeth would not release him. The beast ripped into him again, and again until he whimpered with the agony, overwhelmed by it, wanting it only to end. 'Gods, Hercules!' his tormented mind cried out, 'I can't…I can't stand it!'

"Fight you spineless, whining, miserable excuse for a man!" growled an enraged voice, the sound rolling over him, filling him, warring with the pain for his attention. "Fight, dammit!"

"Ares?" Iolaus mumbled, confused, struggling with the monster, wanting so badly for it all to end.

"Yes, you sniveling, useless runt! ARES!" the god roared, looming over him. "I always knew you were no hero, that you'd give up when the going got really tough. Disgusting, weak, cowardly…you are exactly the kind of partner Hercules has always deserved! Go ahead, give up! Break his miserable heart. You hear me, creep? MAKE MY DAY!"

"No!" shouted Iolaus, thrashing against the monster that held him in its deadly grip. "NO!" he screamed again at the cruel god who tormented him. He'd be damned if he gave Ares the satisfaction of watching him die. "No," he rasped again, fighting his way out of the hallucination, fighting back to consciousness.

"Hercules!" he cried out then to banish Ares, holding onto the thought of his friend to give him strength.

"Hercules can't help you now, you wretched little worm. You're on your own…this is your fight," Ares rumbled, watching the mortal warrior struggle back from the edge. "But you're not good enough to make it on your own, are you? You haven't the grit. You'll quit, I know you will…and I can't wait to see you die."

"You bastard," Iolaus ground out, flailing against whatever bound him. "I'll show you who's got grit!" he snarled, spitting at the image of the god that mocked him.

Laughing then, satisfied, Ares faded away.

The flames flared up, and Iolaus blinked in their light, confused but finally free of the hallucinations. He tugged at the filthy cloaks that were twisted around him. Sharp, horrific streaks of agony were stabbing into his chest and belly, surging waves of pain that seemed to flow from his armpits and groin and he wanted to see what was causing it, more than half convinced that the angry, mocking, god of his delusions had stuck needles into him. Finally, after flailing about weakly, he managed to get one arm free, and he twisted his neck to see what was causing him such unbelievable agony. Frowning, he tentatively touched the darkened, bluish swelling in his left armpit, hissing at the pain that erupted from it.

He should know what…panting for breath, grimacing as he concentrated, he fought the fog that seemed to envelop him…what? And, for a moment, he won. His mind cleared, and he realized what was happening to his body. It was the last stages of the disease. Swallowing, suddenly very afraid, he groped with his right hand down toward his groin, and groaned with despair when he found the swollen lumps there as well.

Buboes. Sacks of poison. Caused by the plague.

"Herc?" he whispered, desperately afraid, his eyes darting around the cave before he remembered he was alone.

Alone.

Helpless.

Dying.

The misery of it all threatened to overwhelm him.

Painfully, he curled on his side toward the fire, too weak to even shiver any more from the fever's relentless, exhausting chills. Staring into the flames, he fought to hold onto his awareness of what was happening, knowing it couldn't last…knowing that he might not ever be conscious again. He told himself that while he might be alone, he wasn't abandoned. He knew Hercules would be coming back for him, and his heart ached at that the thought that he might fail his friend, because he didn't think he could last much longer, no matter how hard he fought the disease that was consuming him. His body was betraying him, and his will was weakened by his increasing disorientation and inability to hold a grip on reality.

"Gods, Herc, please hurry," he whispered, believing his friend was still days away. "I'm trying to hold on…but, I'm so tired. Please, Herc…."

If he could have, he'd have dragged himself out of the cave, to hide like some wounded animal, so that Hercules would never have to see his wasted, cold and lifeless body. But any such action was beyond him. Lifting the waterskin, or even dragging another small log onto the fire was beyond his capacity now.

But, even as his body knew it was hopeless, that his battle was as good as over, his heart refused to let go. He stared into the flames, grimly holding onto consciousness for as long as he could, thinking about Hercules, remembering their lives together. A strange lassitude overtook him, almost a sense of peace, as if he was floating away from the pain, no longer in its grip. He remembered the fun they'd had, the looks on the faces of people they'd helped. But, most of all, he remembered Hercules, and how very much he loved him. He struggled to keep breathing, desperate not to betray the trust Hercules had in him, desperate not to let Herc down.

When his lids finally closed over his fever-bright blue eyes, he was thinking of the friend who defined his life, of Herc's strength of character and spirit as well as of body. Finally merciful, the fever conjured the image of the demigod, as if he was standing there in the cave, with a confident smile and the love he seldom put into words shining in his eyes. So real…Iolaus imagined he was reaching out, and in his delirium, he could feel Herc grab onto him, holding him with his amazing strength, pushing back the darkness and keeping him safe. The hunter knew he just had to hold onto Hercules and everything would be all right.

There was a smile on lips as he whispered his best friend's name.

* * *

Dawn had broken an hour before. Knowing that it was crazy, but unable to stop now that he was so close, Hercules had traveled all night, all the next day, and all of the night just past, the brightness of the full moon helping him to find his way up the treacherous cliffs and the icy ledges. He wasn't aware of anything but his burning, driving need to make it back to Iolaus. Finally, finally, he hauled himself up the last cliff, his eyes rising to find the mouth of the cave above him.

But, it wasn't there.

Hercules' heart literally stopped for a moment as he stared with horrified comprehension at the slide of rock that now blocked the stone shelf where the cave entrance should have been. Lurching to his feet, he scrabbled along the ledge until he reached the first of the boulders. In a frenzy, he lifted and threw them into the chasm below, one after another, as he made his way forward. When he found the carcasses of the wolves, crushed beneath the weight of the stone, he paused, lips parted as he looked up at the rock still between him and his friend. Gods…had Iolaus been trapped in there with more of these beasts?

Feeling as if his heart would burst from terror, he renewed his attack on the rock, literally smashing his way through it. He was desperately afraid he was either going to find Iolaus' torn and lifeless body, mauled by ravaging wolves, or that there would be nothing left of the cave, that it had all collapsed, crushing the life from his partner in one blinding moment of time. In an agony of haste and impending despair, he tore at the stone, uncaring of how sharp edges ripped the skin of his hands.

Finally, he was through, and was almost sick with relief to find that there was still a cave behind the landslide. Racing into the darkness, his fingers curled, ready to tear any wolves he might find there into pieces. But, all was silent.

"Iolaus!" he cried out, "Iolaus! I'm back!"

He stumbled a bit when he realized the fire had burned out, the light of the day streaming in behind him illuminating the too still, small, curled bundle wrapped tightly in the twisted cloaks. But, he kept moving, kicking rubble from the ceiling out of his way, back through the cave to crash onto his knees and pull Iolaus around into his arms. He'd seen the dried rusty stains of blood on the cave's floor on either side of the fire, causing the breath to catch in his chest, his heart to clench with helpless dread.

The fingers of his right hand reached out to touch Iolaus' face, as his lips trembled with fear. Shuddering when he felt the warmth of the fever still burning, he tried to marshal his panic as he pulled the pack off his shoulder and rummaged in it for the small jug of medicine. It couldn't be too late. Iolaus was still alive. That meant he wasn't too late.

Gently, he laid Iolaus back down, and hurriedly got a fire started. His hands scrabbling amongst the detritus he'd dumped from Iolaus' pack five long days before, he found the small tripod and cauldron. Filling it from the pool, he set it over the flames to boil. The only thing he'd had to do on the ship besides pace and worry was to memorize the simple instructions for how to administer the medicine. Picking up the jug, he pulled out its cork and dumped the contents into the water simmering in the cauldron. He had to wait for it to boil, then get Iolaus to drink it.

Rummaging again in the pack he'd brought, he pulled out an earthen mug, then stared at the cauldron willing it to boil. "Come on," he muttered. "COME ON!" Finally, tiny bubbles erupted and he swept the cauldron from the flames and poured the potion into the mug. Moving back around behind Iolaus, he raised his head and shoulders, supporting his partner with one strong arm as he dribbled the medicine into Iolaus' slack mouth, a little at a time, forcing himself to patience.

Finally, it was done. Setting the cup aside, he concentrated on examining his friend, gently tugging the cloaks into some order, his hands shaking a little when he recognized the slashes left by a wolf's claws. He pulled the material away from Iolaus' body, searching for wounds.

"Oh gods," he murmured with horror when he found the buboes, knowing only too well what they meant.

He saw how wasted Iolaus was, the fever having burned away his strength and substance, and with an aching pity, Hercules also saw the evidence of how weak his friend had become, unable to care for himself, and knew how much his friend must have hated that. Iolaus was so pale, and Hercules suspected the fever, enemy that it was, had really been the only thing that had kept his buddy from freezing to death when the fire had died.

He put herbs on to boil, herbs to fight fever and the congestion he could hear bubbling in Iolaus' chest. While he waited for the tea to heat, he eased his buddy out of his vest, then bathed Iolaus' body, pulling a clean cloak from the sack he'd carried to wrap around his friend's too still form. Then, he pulled off the cloak the healer had forced on him when he hadn't thought of taking one for himself, and wrapped it, too, snugly around Iolaus. By then, the tea was ready and he poured it into the mug, feeding it a little at a time into his buddy's mouth, stroking Iolaus' throat to help him swallow.

He threw more logs on the fire to build up the heat in the frigid cave, and cleared away the filthy cloaks and blankets. Then, he again gathered Iolaus into his arms, supporting his friend's head high on his chest to make it as easy as possible for him to breathe. Holding his buddy tightly, rocking him a little unconsciously, Hercules wasn't even aware that he'd been keeping up a constant, soothing, imploring litany of gentle reassurances and commands to get better.

He stared down into Iolaus' gaunt face, made strange by the week's growth of beard, so pale and still, and realized there'd been one thing he'd forgotten to ask the healer in Tripolis.

How long did it take for the medicine to work? How long before he'd know that he really hadn't returned too late?

* * *

The fever flared again, as if the disease was battling with fury that this victim had not yet succumbed, but was still resisting, armed now with the weapons of medicine and herbs, warmth and the mysterious strength that the touch of another could bring. Hercules fought back, bathing his friend's body, but not with the icy water…it was too shocking. He warmed water, one small cauldron after another, to take the bite from it so that it was cool but not fraught with its own danger. The demigod kept the fire built high, so that it finally pushed back the bone-aching cold of the cave, and brewed more tea to reduce the congestion that filled Iolaus' chest. When chills hit, Hercules wrapped his own body around his smaller friend to add his warmth to the cloaks and the heat of the fire.

Hour after hour throughout that long day, and into the night, Hercules fought, his fear growing until he didn't know how his heart could contain it without shattering. His hands shook as he bathed Iolaus, and dribbled tea into his mouth, and he had to keep blinking back tears of guilt, swallow back desperation.

Iolaus was too still, too silent. He had to be suffering great pain, but he was so deeply unconscious it no longer seemed to touch him. He should have been thrashing in the throes of the fever, but he lay limp as if he no longer had enough energy or strength left to even push at the cloaks which bound him, holding the heat in. There were no moans or unconscious whimpers of discomfort, just the harsh rattling in his chest each time his lungs dragged in another breath of air. The congestion should have had him coughing, trying to expel it, but his body was too weak even for that.

As he held his friend, Hercules' gaze wandered the cave, falling for the first time on the blood stained sword back by the wall. Remembering the remains of the wolves he'd found, his eyes again took in the bloodstains on the floor of the small cavern and he recalled the slashes on one of the cloaks. Gods, when had the wolves come? What must it have cost Iolaus to face them, to fight them off? Closing his eyes, he shook his head, almost overcome by the reality of what had so nearly happened here.

Another dawn broke, gray and dismal with heavy clouds. The wind picked up and howled, scattering an icy rain along the ledge outside the cave's mouth. Hercules was leaning back against the cave wall, Iolaus cradled in his arms, feeling the heat lift from his friend's body in tangible waves. Pushing back the matted curls, his fingers delicately stroking Iolaus' cheek, Hercules gazed with fierce intensity at his buddy's face, aching to see those eyes open, glinting with humour, to hear that voice speak his name.

"Come on, buddy," he called softly, as he had throughout the silent night, "you drove off the wolves…you can beat this. Listen to me, Iolaus…please, gods, don't let go now."

But, there was no more response now than there had been when he had first returned. He found himself dwelling on those endless hours that Iolaus had been here alone, fighting alone, wondering when Hercules would return…imagining the lonely terrors Iolaus must felt as his strength melted away, losing track of time and reality. "Gods, Iolaus, you had to know I'd be back…had to know how hard it was for me to leave you like this. Now, it's your turn…you have to come back…you can't leave me this way. Gods, Iolaus, please…come back."

As the day wore on, fear became frustration. There had to be something more he could do. He began to believe that Iolaus should be responding by now, that his buddy just wasn't trying, had given up. Frustration became anger, and he found himself shaking his friend, as if he could shock him back to wakefulness, shouting at him to "FIGHT, DAMMIT!"

Until, appalled, he came back to his senses and hugged his suffering friend tightly, rocking him as he whispered, "I'm sorry, gods forgive me, I'm sorry."

The stench of wet fur, the click of a claw on stone…Hercules' head flashed up, his nostrils flaring and eyes narrowed as he glared at the wolves that were slinking through the narrow aperture he'd created in the landslide. Unblinking, their yellow eyes filled with the promise of death, they prowled closer, jaws gaping, saliva dripping from their sharp fangs.

Hercules hurriedly laid Iolaus down, his fingers grabbing one of the solid lengths of wood from the pile as he rose to his feet, stepping between his unconscious friend and the threat that was converging upon them. Not waiting for the wolves to come to him, Hercules strode forward, around the fire, his teeth bared in a grimace of fury, his muscles rippling with irresistible strength and power. These wolves had tormented Iolaus, had tried to kill him. Finally, an enemy he could punish had come to him.

They rushed at him, driven by hunger, and he lashed out, ferocious, all the pain, terror and horror of the last days finally having a worthy target. The bludgeon of wood caught one wolf along the side of the head, crushing its skull, and then Hercules spun a little to the side, kicking out, catching another in the ribs and sending it crashing back against the stone wall. One leapt for his throat but was battered aside when a fist lashed out, pounding it away, while another's fangs sank into his leg, biting deep. Hercules brought the log in his grasp down toward the beast, while another leapt toward him from the other side.

A bear is far stronger, more powerful, than a wolf, but a pack of wolves, worrying, harrying, relentless, can bring down any bear. But, no bear ever protected a cub with more passionate fury or determination than Hercules now fought to protect Iolaus. The log bashed down, splintering with the force of the blow on the wolf's body, smashing its spine, while Hercules' other gauntleted arm flew back to knock aside the wolf lunging up at him. Another leapt up at him and he caught it by the throat, twisting and squeezing the life from it in less than a moment, but not before its claws had raked his chest and arm. He tossed the limp body aside, ready for the next attack.

But, the remaining wolves backed cautiously away to slink by the walls, trying to circle around him. Wise to their tactics, he reached down to rip away the carcass of the one whose lifeless jaws still gripped his leg, and threw it powerfully to one side, scattering the wolves to his left. Whirling, he took two rapid strides toward those on his right, lashing out with a heavily booted foot, to catch one and lift it back, flying into the others behind it. Blood seeped from the wounds on his leg, and from gouges scratched by claws on his chest and right arm. But he was heedless of his own injuries, the power and depth of his rage blinding him to everything but his need to destroy these creatures that had threatened the life of his friend.

The wolves hesitated, smelling the rage, wary of the unexpected strength, watching the sweat-glazed, towering figure that gave no quarter, but advanced on them like an avenging angel, a force of nature, awesome and terrifying. Whimpering in defeat, one broke and raced back out of the cave. The others continued to watch, cunning eyes seeking an opening, an opportunity to bring this raging beast down, but there was none. He'd grabbed up the body of another of his victims, and was swinging it now before him, sweeping other wolves from his path. A second wolf whirled and raced for the mouth of the cave, frightened by something it didn't understand but knew it could not overcome. Pitching the body of the wolf away, Hercules stood confronting the rest of the pack, his muscles bunched, ready to take whatever came at him, his fingers curled in expectation of sinking into the thick, wet fur, seeking to kill. He glared at them, blue eyes flashing a grim threat of death, and growled low in his throat.

One growled back, but faltered, then yipped, a high cry of retreat. It was all the rest needed, as they turned, streaking like wraiths out of the cave into the lowering light of dusk. Their hunger wasn't enough to hold them to a losing battle. They'd find easier prey, a lesser creature which would run and cower from them, not rise up in terrifying welcome, eager to prey upon them.

Hercules stood a moment, his chest heaving, then he pushed long hair back from his face. The flush of rage drained from his body, the light of battle faded from his eyes. Straightening, his face was empty of expression as his gaze wandered over the havoc he had wrought, then he moved to gather up the remains of his defeated enemies, dragging their bodies from the cave and pitching them down off the ledge to the rocks far below. Returning to the cave, he took a moment to quickly wash off the blood from the wounds on his body, but he gave them no more attention than that. He'd known worse. He'd heal.

Returning to Iolaus, he sank down beside his friend, the fire and passion of battle gone, leaving behind the ache of despair and deep fear of an enemy he couldn't reach out and crush. He frowned a little, his eyes filled with helpless sorrow, as his jaw clenched and he swallowed the hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm him. Large, strong, gentle hands reached out to gather Iolaus to him, pulling his friend back up into his arms, against his chest. His head bowed, his cheek coming to rest on Iolaus' curls. Gods, he wished he could drive off the disease with the same ease with which he'd defeated the wolves. He closed his eyes, but helpless tears leaked through his lashes to slip unheeded down his cheeks.

More hours passed, dusk slipping into night, the only sounds in the fire-lit cave the crackle of wood and the harsh rattle of air in Iolaus' chest with each slow, hesitant breath. The fever built until Hercules was certain it was going to finally kill his partner.

"No," he muttered hoarsely, "I'm not giving up. You're not going to die!"

Desperate, he took water directly from the pool, cupped in one handful after another, to splash over his friend's burning body. Then, he soaked all the rags they had with the icy water, to lay over his friend's forehead and body. When the heat of the fever dried them, he soaked them again, and again, afraid the icy touch of the water on Iolaus' burning skin might be too much for his friend's faltering heart, but not knowing what else to do. He had to break the fever before it took Iolaus from him.

Until, finally, when he was at the edge of believing it truly was hopeless, that he had lost, the fever broke.

Sweat poured from Iolaus' body, drenching him…and, when the fever broke, so too did the buboes of poison, noisome viscous fluid bursting out of them. Iolaus moaned then, whimpering piteously in unconscious torment from the soul searing agony of the pain of the ruptures.

Hercules cleaned his friend's body of the foul drainage, and covered the suppurating wounds with poultices to draw out the last of the poison. He bathed the sweat from Iolaus' body and wrapped him again in the warmth of the cloaks. Without the unhealthy flush of fever, Iolaus had gone bone-white, his skin almost translucent. The coughing started again, then, and Hercules had to hold Iolaus' shoulders and head high against his chest to help him breathe, to keep him from choking.

But, Hercules took hope…Iolaus was struggling back. His body was throwing off the disease, pushing it out of his system. He brewed more tea and forced it into his friend. And held him, consciously willing his own strength into that frail body, his own warmth into Iolaus' soul.

The night passed, and in the cold hours before dawn, Iolaus again seemed to be sinking, having once more gone unnaturally still and silent. His body felt cold to Herc's touch, as if in losing the heat of the fever, he'd lost the capacity to hold any warmth at all within himself. His pulse was faint and erratic in his throat, and his breathing had slowed down, becoming wispy.

"You're so close, Iolaus," Hercules whispered, his voice breaking, "so close to beating this. Hang on, buddy, don't let go now. Hang on…."

The dawn finally came, the sunlight bringing the illusion of warmth as it spilled into the cave. Herc's face was gray with exhaustion, deeply lined by his fear and grief that his partner had to suffer so much, might still slip out of his grasp. His lips brushed Iolaus' cool forehead, and then he rested his chin against his buddy's unruly curls, trying to hold onto his desperate hope that Iolaus would survive.

But, he was terribly afraid he was deluding himself, and that he'd never hear that voice again, never see laughter in those eyes. Never again know the comforting, confident presence beside him, backing him up, believing in him. It wasn't right…it wasn't fair. Iolaus was so alive…he enjoyed, reveled, in life so much. He deserved to live, deserved to know all the happiness, and joy, and satisfaction that life could bring. Hercules took a shuddering breath as he drew his friend tighter against his chest, tears of loneliness and sorrow burning in his eyes.

"Come back, Iolaus," he whispered into the silence. "Gods, please come back."

* * *

Warmth, the sound of a heartbeat…safe…strong arms holding him. Little by little, Iolaus became aware, as if layers of muffling cotton were being peeled away. The murmur of a voice, calling to him. No fever. Some pain, but not so much as before. The crackle of a fire nearby. The scent of the smoke…and of something else, someone….

Blinking, he came back to the world, saw it was day…and smiled weakly. Hercules had returned and was holding him. He could feel the strength that supported him, and despite the lassitude, the weakness that pulled at him, he knew that strength would keep him safe until his own returned.

"Herc?" he whispered hoarsely, and felt the arms stiffen, almost spasm around him. He heard his buddy's breath catch in his breast…and then the hunter felt Hercules begin to shudder as the demigod wept with a relief that he couldn't contain, couldn't hide.

"Iolaus!" Hercules gasped, his hand under Iolaus' chin, gently lifting his friend's head, to look into his buddy's face with tear spangled eyes. To see those brilliant blue eyes, filled with life and warm affection… gods, to hear that voice again when he'd been so frightened that it had been forever silenced. And, then, he was hugging Iolaus tightly, both arms wrapped around him, murmuring, "Oh gods, I was so afraid…."

"It's okay, Herc," Iolaus murmured with a voice that had gone unused for too long. "It's okay…."

"You're back," Hercules sighed, as if it had been Iolaus who'd gone far away, who'd left on a perilous, lengthy journey, and whose return had been longed for but uncertain.

"I never left," his buddy chuckled weakly, though he knew it had been close. He'd felt the distant fields of Elysium beckoning but even paradise didn't hold the attraction of what he had in life, couldn't tempt him with tranquility or eternal peace. He'd known Herc would come back for him…had known his best friend's strength would pull him through.

All he'd had to do was hold on to the memory of that strength until the real thing came back to him.

"I couldn't," he whispered, as he slipped an arm around Hercules, weakly hugging him right back. "I knew you'd come back for me."

Hercules held onto him, unaware that his soul's fervent response, 'Always, gods, I'll always come back for you,' had found a husky echo in his voice, murmured into the curls beneath his lips.

But, Iolaus heard the vow that came from the depths of Hercules' being, and was deeply moved by it. For the first time since he'd become ill, tears filled his eyes. Gods, he'd never understand why he meant so much to Hercules…he didn't deserve to be loved that much.

A memory rose to the surface of his mind, and he heard the echo of his own voice as he'd asked, 'if I was one of those waves, I wonder what it would feel like to roll along endlessly, with the strength and power of the deeps lifting me, until I came to a lonely shore and crashed upon the rocks, only to fall back into the arms of the sea where I belong. No cares, no worries, no responsibilities. Just…being.'

Flowing back into the strength and power, part of it, part of the mystery, ultimately inseparable, bound together for all eternity.

'Well, now I know,' he thought to himself with a smile. 'Now I know.'

And, then he remembered Hercules' response that day. 'You'd be bored,' and Iolaus chuckled weakly. One thing about Herc, life around him was never boring!

Feeling the laughter ripple through Iolaus' body, hearing the longed for sound, Hercules pulled away to look down at his buddy, a slow smile playing around his own lips, relieving the stark lines of worry that had etched into his face, lighting his clear, blue eyes. "What's so funny?" he asked softly.

But, Iolaus just shook his head. Then, another memory surfaced from the confused muddle of the last few days. "Ares was here," he said, frowning thoughtfully.

"Ares?" Hercules exclaimed, his grip again unconsciously tightening protectively around his partner. "If he hurt you…."

"No," Iolaus interjected, his puzzled gaze searching Herc's eyes. "No…he didn't hurt me. If anything, I think he was trying to help me…making me fight back by daring me to quit…making me hold on by taunting me to give up. It was weird, Herc, really weird…."

"Help you? Ares?" Hercules muttered in disbelief. "Yeah, right. You must have been dreaming, Iolaus…Ares wouldn't do anything to help either one of us. If he really was here, he only came to torment you."

* * *

Watching the images in the limpid pool of water in the urn by his throne, eavesdropping on the conversation, Ares chuckled. Leaning back against his throne, he murmured, "Life is full of surprises, bro, and no one should know that better than you." Then, remembering Iolaus' impish taunt days before, he snickered again, vastly amused. "And, you're right, runt…this changes nothing. Like it or not, you are one of mine, and you always will be."

Pausing a moment to smirk in great good humour, the god rumbled to himself, "But, that doesn't mean that I won't try to kill you the next time we meet."

* * *

Iolaus thought about what Hercules had said, and had to admit that it was more likely that he'd been imagining things than that the God of War had stirred himself to help someone he more often seemed determined to blast into oblivion. Still…? Iolaus shrugged, letting it go. Then, for the first time, he really looked at Hercules, and noticed the wounds on his friend's chest, shoulder and arms. Concerned, he reached out to gingerly touch them. "What happened to you?" he demanded with a dark frown.

Dragged back from his grim thoughts about his half-brother by Iolaus' voice, Hercules gazed down at his friend as he replied offhandedly, "What? Oh…nothing much. A mountain lion, a few wolves…no more than you handled while I was gone."

"Oh yeah?" Iolaus muttered back as he studied the healing injuries, not convinced. "I knew you'd get into trouble without me."

Hercules just laughed quietly. Someday, he'd tell Iolaus about his adventures to get the medicine and bring it to Amitraea. His buddy was going to enjoy hearing about Cyrus…but not right now. For now, Hercules just wanted to enjoy the fact that Iolaus was going to be just fine.

Looking back up at Hercules, Iolaus asked, "So…the people in Amitraea…they'll be alright now?"

"Uh huh," Hercules replied. "The healer in Tripolis was able to give me more than enough for their needs."

"And…Virgil's son?" the hunter enquired quietly, afraid to hear the answer but wanting to know.

"He's alright, Iolaus…don't worry. There is no more plague in Amitraea," Herc assured him. "We both did what we had to do 'for the good of the many' as you put it…and you were right. I, well, you'll never know how hard it was for me to leave you. But, you were right. Just…don't ever make me do something like that again. Okay?"

A bright grin lit the hunter's face, as he replied, "Well, okay…not unless I have to."

"Gods, Iolaus," Hercules groaned dramatically as he rolled his eyes, complaining, "why can't you just give me a simple promise? You never make it easy."

"Where would the challenge be in easy?" Iolaus threw back at him, his voice still a little raspy…then giggled at the pained, quizzical look on Hercules' face.

Gods, it felt good to be alive.

Finis


End file.
